


Fed-Up!

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternative Universe - FBI, Banter, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drug Dealing, Drunken Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fast Cars, Gangs, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Mild Language, Other, Partners to Lovers, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Same-Sex Marriage, Slow Burn, Snarky Tony Stark, Street Racing, Tony Stark Swears, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 50,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: Two FBI special agents go undercover to infiltrate a gang of street racers. If only they were a little more compatible..





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, the 'Buddy Cop Show' trope. Never gets old. Or maybe it did, and nobody told me. Anyway, I think that so far, an IronBat version of it does not exist around here, thus I made one. Fair disclaimer/warning: I'm only vaguely familiar with movies like Bad Boys, or series like Miami Vice and such. Still, I feel like these two could pull it off... somehow. Let's see.

“You'll need a partner for your next operation.”  
A thick manila file got pushed over a wood veneer table top for closer examination.  
“Undercover infiltration of a gang. Drag racing seems to be their thing. We assume there's more.”

Jim Gordon wiped the crumbs from his breakfast bagel out of his mustache and off his desk with a sleeve. He then looked up at the rigid young man standing in front of him. “I'm doing good on my own, Sir.” The mustache made a curling movement, then Gordon adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “The last three agents I tried to team you up with quit after three months or less. They beg to differ.”  
  
The FBI agent in question straightened his already meticulous tie with a quick, mechanic tug. “That wasn't my fault.” Gordon tilted his head with a look that resembled a stern headmaster. “Agent Kent claimed you were uncompromising and unfriendly. Agent Queen said he has never met a colleague as obnoxious and standoffish as you. Agent Prince requested me to assign her someone who, and I quote, 'does not resemble a perfect, creepy human cyborg'.”

Nothing on the young man's face seemed to move at the impressive list.  
“I still don't see what's the problem. I always got the job done.”  
Gordon's flat palms made a smacking sound as they hit the desk.

“Goddammit Wayne, you have the personality of grim yogurt!*”  
Expressionless hazel eyes blinked twice.  
“... _yogurt_ , Sir?”

Deputy Chief of Staff Gordon, looking as if he regretted his little outburst, turned his palms up and sighed. "The FBI considers loyalty a more valuable asset than competence. And a highly trained, intelligent and intrepid agent like you should know he gets cast out if he doesn't value being a team player." Agent Wayne seemed to take his explanation with as little emotion as before. Gordon sighed again.

“Anyway. Your new colleague should be waiting downstairs. He's been sent from Nick Fury's squad and is in dire need of a new partner.”  
  
Wayne marched over to the window and peeked through the dusty blinds. Upon seeing no one, he turned around to his superior. “What happened to his old one?” Something uneasy hushed over Gordon's features. He took off his glasses to scrub them on the end of his askew, checkered tie.  
  
“Agent Rhodes got into an accident during a mission. Paralyzed from waist-down ever since. Shame, he was a good one. Stark took it hard; blamed himself.” The deep roar of an engine interrupted whatever questions Bruce still had. When Gordon was done squinting at him and put his glasses back on, there was pure determination on his face.  
  
“There he is. And Wayne? I expect you to rein yourself in - otherwise I have no choice but to have you removed.”

* * *

Bass-laden sounds blared over at him from a silver Audi R8 convertible waiting at the curb.

Behind the wheel, a dark mop of curly hair bobbed along. It belonged to an unshaven 30-something who oozed cockiness and confidence even from far away. Wayne slowed his steps and put up a frown. A pair of sleek, black shades then lowered a trifle to expose two large brown, rather shrewd eyes. “Hiya. You must be my new compadre. C'mon, hop in.”  
  
Walking around the fancy sports car, Bruce pulled the passenger door open and slipped into the seat.  
“I am your assigned partner for this case. My name is Bruce Wayne. Turn off that awful music.”  
His monotonous, succinct way of speaking prompted his opposite to raise an eyebrow with a smirk.  
  
“Name's Tony Stark, and that's a real rad Black Sabbath Iron Man dubstep remix** you've just dissed.” Seemingly unperturbed, Wayne glowered at him until Stark turned the volume down and watched him buckle up. “So what do you listen to then? Mozart?” Bruce ignored him in favor of slipping on his own pair of shades. Tony brought the roadster into traffic with a peel out that made the tires squeal and smoke.  
  
“Hey Mister stick-in-the-butt, I'm talking to you.”

From where he had clawed a hand around the indoor handle for support, Wayne's brows furrowed with something close to vexation. “Is that a euphemism for gay? Because if it is, I'll have you filed for insulting a fellow officer faster than you...” Once more he held on tight as they rounded a corner. Stark glimpsed up into the rear-view mirror and let the Audi surge ahead.

“Nah-ah. Geez, what rock did they find you under? No, you're not even living under a rock, you must be living under a myriad of rocks. You're the lord of the rocks. The rock city king. Rock...”

“Shut up.”

Much to his surprise, Stark stopped talking in favor of another daring passing maneuver and went over to chew his gum openly for him to see. Wayne kept his gaze out at the fast-changing scenery until they came to a standstill at a red light. “Where are we going?” A sardonic grin hushed over Tony's features. “Thought you wanted me to shut up? That's a lot of mixed signals you're sending there, buddy.”  
  
Bruce crossed his arms over his chest.  
“Oh my God.”  
“Tony's perfectly fine, thanks.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * hilarious comparison originated from a tumblr post by a user called ryanvoid (sadly the source link does not seem to exist anymore, but the whole quote was "don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved Batman since I was a tiny child, but I think we all need to come to terms with the fact that he has the personality of very grim yogurt.")  
> -> I loved this so much, I needed it! All kudos to the creator! 
> 
> ** the 'real rad Black Sabbath Iron Man dubstep remix' Tony is listening/referring to is this one, in case anyone's interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Tnm9FPj3jE  
> -> I have now deemed this song part of the story's OST ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Ten minutes later, they stopped at an apartment complex which turned out to be a rehabilitation facility.  
“What are we doing here?”  
Stark unbuckled and snatched his sunglasses off his nose.  
  
“Paying a little visit to my best friend. He's been more curious about my new partner than me.” When they got out of the car, Bruce noticed for the first time how short Stark actually was. Apart from that, he was also dressed in a very casual combo of faded denims, eccentric sneakers, and a hooded sweater in bright red. It made the difference to Wayne in his impeccable, dark gray business suit even more obvious.

Something close to condescension flickered in Bruce's eyes, and the malice on his face must have shown, because Stark returned his stare, huffed, and pushed his chest out. “What'chu grinning at, punk?” They were at least four inches apart; meaning Stark had to slightly crane his head upwards. "Just curious - do we need to get you a booster seat for the car?” Stark seethed at him. “God, you’re truly an asshole.”

Wayne's lips twitched in a humorless way. “Thanks, I try.” The shorter man brushed past him, and Bruce had to watch out for the revolving door Stark had pushed through with force. Wayne slowed his steps and stopped at the reception area. “I'll wait here.” Already at the elevator, Stark swung around, still miffed, and pointed an index finger at him. “Like hell. Rhodey's been wanting to meet ya, so move your unfunny, tight ass.”

They went up onto the 8th floor in silence and at a more than respective distance to each other. After a knock on a single room door down the sterile smelling corridor, a male voice called them in. Tony Stark went first, and his whole demeanor changed from being pissed off to amicable and outgoing in an instant. “Platypus, hi! You're looking great. Practicing for Olympia again?”

Bruce remained standing in the back and witnessed Stark hugging a black man sitting in a wheelchair. He had a buzz cut and wore a fitted t-shirt that exposed upper torso strength. Said man then returned the smile and gave a friendly bump to Stark's chest. “Got into artistic gymnastics just yesterday.” The man's dark brown eyes then flew over to where Wayne still lingered in the open doorway.  
  
“So that's him?” Stark pointed with his thumb, nodding along. “Yup. Meet the wet blanket I've been commissioned to call my new partner.” As Tony Stark gave a mean grin, Bruce glowered at them. It was then that Rhodes wheeled over into his direction and extended a hand. “Hi, James Rhodes. So you're the poor soul who has to deal with hurricane Anthony. All the best to you, man, you'll need it.”

A mock-indignant huff from the back. “Hey! I'm the good cop, he's the one who puts the ‘fun’ into funeral.” Ignoring him, Wayne took the outstretched hand. “Bruce Wayne. I'm sorry about your condition.” Rhodes brushed him off with a carefree wave. “What's done's done. It's no one's fault. Accidents like that happen in our job.” He stole a glimpse into the direction of the third man in the room.

By now, Tony Stark had turned away and pretended to be examining the electronics of the hospital bed with serious interest. Rhodes closed the door and beckoned Wayne over to have a seat on a nearby couch. He wheeled closer until they were facing each other across a small table. “The two of you are taking up the drag racing case?” Bruce nodded and kept one eye trained on his new partner in the back.  
  
“Is there anything you can share that's vital for us to know?” James sighed and put both elbows up on the armrests. “'fraid not. I've never gotten around to digging into the case after I ended up at the hospital. All I know is they are organized well. Their drag racing contests happen regularly in and outside of LA. Rumor has it there's at least a dozen of them.” When Wayne nodded, James craned his neck to look at Tony.

"How's the backstopping going?” Stark sauntered over. Guilt was still lurking heavily behind his eyes, but he put up a facade. “Got a phone that traces back to a fake business, full paper trail and everything, a comp with clean IP addresses, and – see that baby down there at the curb? Untraceable fake license plate and driver's license.” Rhodes wheeled over to indulge his friend's enthusiasm upon discovering the Audi R8.

“Awesome ride. Man, this one's gonna be one hell of a job.” He sounded part intrigued, part wistful. Tony nodded and at the same time spread his arms. “It's like using Game Genie on all the difficult parts of criminal life." Neither of them paid attention to the hazel pair of eyes that rolled skywards behind their backs. From where he sat close to his best friend, James then squinted, hard, and cocked his head.  
  
“Are you growing a beard?”  
Rhodes' eyes darted all over his best friend's chin and cheeks. He received an eager nod.  
“Yup. Nick said it'd be a good addition to my new look.”  
  
James did not look the least bit convinced.  
“You're gonna look like a pimp, Tones.”  
Stark stroked the shadow of a goatee on his chin with two fingers with an evil grin.  
  
“Perfect.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Deputy Chief of Staff Gordon and Associate Deputy Director Fury seemed to share the same, mutual, sadistic humor to also assign their biggest troublemakers to work in a joined office until the official undercover mission began. When Stark stood in the doorway, carrying a box with his belongings, Wayne groaned out loud.

“No."  
The box landed on the table with a dull thud.  
“ _Yes._ Nothing against those good ole team building measures. Scoot over, I need half of that desk.”

Wayne was just in time to save all of his open files from being buried just before Stark started to distribute his clutter. A handful of Twinkies, individually wrapped, scattered across the table, just like some cable bundle that turned out to be a mess of intertwined earphone plugs. A multitude of loose papers and envelopes, pens, and tattered Popular Mechanic magazines completed the pile.

Pulling a face at the meticulously tidy and empty desk of his opposite, Tony brushed most of his stuff into the drawer closest to him and plopped down. He bounced a little back and forth in his chair, folded his hands like an attentive pupil and inspected the sparse surroundings. The office held no radio, no plants or framed pictures of any kind. Shelves filled with meticulously sorted files were lined up at the walls.

Through a tilted window, sounds from the parking lot were heard, and the metallic blinds clanked softly whenever a gust of warm wind streamed in. After glimpsing at a huge clock above the door, an expensive-looking coffee machine gleamed at him in the corner and caught his attention. With a finalized sigh, Tony pushed his chair back and stood up. The clicking sounds of a keyboard continued to fill the air.

“Coffee?”  
Not looking up from his laptop, Wayne grunted.  
“Black.”  
  
With a knowing nod, Tony pressed the respective button on the machine.  
  
“As bitter as your soul then. Gotcha.”  
  
Wayne said nothing, even when a cup appeared on his side. His eyes remained glued to the screen as he reached out for the mug. Taking the first sip of his cappuccino, Tony gave an appreciative hum and sat down again. “Guess I need to bring a laptop. I'm used to working with a tablet, but mine broke." No answer. Stark put his cup aside, fished a click pen from his drawer and tested it on his plain white desk blotter calendar.

After drawing doodles and sketches all over, some bearing a faint resemblance to the person opposite of him, Tony's thumb found another occupation worth busying himself with. The constant clicking of the retractable pen eventually led to two exasperated hazel eyes glaring up. “Stop. That. Now.” Tony Stark suddenly wore a downright angelic grin and twirled the offending item in between fingers.  
  
“Around what time are you're going to pay attention to me?” Angry at himself for raising to the bait, Wayne focused back on his report. “How about never?” Tony pouted and put the pen down. “No offense, but if you're keeping this up, I'm really not inclined to like you.” Wayne tilted his head but did not look up again as he continued typing. “My job isn’t to be your friend.” Stark harrumphed. “You're very good at your job then.”  
  
The other agent sneered and viciously turned a page of the file in front.  
“I'm the best.”  
Stark did not reply to that but went on clicking his tongue.

Annoyed, Wayne stopped typing and looked at him once more. By now Stark had put his chin up on a fist and regarded him with a cocky expression. After a stare-down that lasted almost ten seconds, Bruce sighed in exasperation, reached into a drawer, and produced a new, slim, neat-looking file. “Here. Read up on the details of the UC story we are using.”

All enthusiastic, Tony groped for the folder and leaned back in his swivel chair. With one ankle crossed over his knee, he disappeared behind the manila file, and Bruce almost exhaled with relief, going back to his report. No more than five minutes later, Stark then began to make humming noises. “John Elias. I can work with that.” He thumbed through the file. “What did you get?” Tony soon discovered it himself.

“Charles Phillips. Hahaha, _Charles_. Like that royal Brit dude with the big ears. Know him?” Seeing Bruce was not about to grace him with an answer, Stark went back to reading. He kept on uttering unintelligible sounds. After the fifth or sixth 'Mhm', Wayne finally had enough. “What?!” His question was a dangerous hiss. Stark lowered his report, looking carefree and chipper as usual.

“We're gonna need nicknames. Charlie and Johnny are lame-o. I'd go with Easy J. And you?” The other man's decimating glare spoke volumes. It did not stop Tony from thinking out loud. “Chucky. Chuckles. Chazzy P. Hey, I personally think it'd be hilarious to go for Chuckles, seeing you're such a sourpuss in real life, but that's just my opinion.” Wayne's teeth made a low, grating sound. “Which no one asked for.”  
  
His opposite pouted, but only briefly. “How 'bout Chase then? Edgy enough?” Bruce hit the enter key with more force than necessary. “Stupid enough for sure.” Now Stark's big brown eyes turned slightly patronizing. “Ever heard of mimicry? No police cred, guns only if the situation calls for those – oh, and while we're at it – you'd better leave those tightly pressed desk jockey suits at home, too.”

The corners of Wayne's mouth turned south. “What I wear is none of your business.” Stark's grin turned triumphant. “It is if we're going out there as a team. Ever seen a drag race driver wearing Armani? Figured. Bye bye business suit.” Pondering his objection, Bruce still looked unconvinced. “There’s no way this is going to work.” Tony rolled his eyes for him to see before he disappeared behind the report again.  
  
“Well, not with that attitude of yours. Or that 90s-son-in-law-haircut for the matter. Pshh.”

The glowering look Wayne shot him bounced off the manila folder in Tony's hands. Stark, therefore, missed out on how one of Bruce's hands came up to gingerly touch the back of his coiffed head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UC = under cover 
> 
> Kudos to anyone who can make something out of the boys' aliases ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Virginia 'Pepper' Potts was the assistant director of the Operational Technology Division. She was also a real redhead with freckles, and a good two inches taller than Tony – sans heels. The fierce Miss Potts had shot down Stark's misogynistic flirting attempts in less than five seconds upon their first meeting, leaving him to eat sweet humble pie when he learned of her position at the beginning of his career.

Over the years, it turned into one of the best, rarest platonic friendships he ever had with a woman.

After a rather lax knock, Tony entered her office, quickly checking the scene. When he found no one else to be around, he all but sprawled over her table in a mock-seductive manner, batting his lashes. “Pottsy, hi. What's my favorite whizz gal doing this morning?” Pepper cast him a brief glance over the rim of her glasses, raised an eyebrow, and stopped typing.  
  
“Good morning to you too, Mister Stark. You have two seconds to move your heinie off my desk.”  
  
After he had scrambled into a halfway decent sitting position, Tony dangled his legs over the rim.  
  
“I need you.”

“I figured.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Like glass.”

“I asked you out like three times, Pep, but you always said no. What's a guy supposed to do?”

“Stop trying to fraternize the whole bureau sounds like a great idea to begin with.” Both kept up their deadpan expressions until Tony broke his with a hearty chuckle. “One day I am going to make you the mother of my unborn kids, Pottsy, better watch out.” Pepper leaned in and booped his nose with an affectionate smirk. “I assume you're not just here to discuss future child custody matter, but to have a look at your freebie.”

Rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand Tony nodded, a bit more subdued all of a sudden. “True that. Oh, hey, before I forget - Rhodey says hi by the way.” It was still a touchy subject, so Pepper gave a cautious nod. “How did he react to your new partner?” Tony hummed. “Diplomatic as always – even in the face of a total schmuck.” With a tutting sound she stood up, reaching for her white lab coat on a nearby chair.  
  
“Tony, Tony, Tony..”

“Yeah, no, I mean... seriously. Have you ever met Wayne round here?” When she declined, he huffed out loud. “See, figured. Cause if you had, you wouldn't be looking at me with those motherly peepers right now, sweet cheeks. That guy's an uptight douche nozzle like I ain't seen one in my life.” His uncomplimentary description made her shake her head at the same time she slipped into the coat.

“Has it ever occurred to your genius brain that Wayne is maybe just not as outgoing and extrovert as you? Did that thought ever cross your cunning mind?” His mouth twitched, trying to suppress a grin. “Briefly, yeah. Dismissed the thought as quickly as possible, though. Horrible idea. Brrr.” Tony gave a mock-freezing rub of his palms and blew into his fists. She poked right at his chest.  
  
“Keep on donning that jokester image so that no one knows what a loveable human being you are.” When he began to whistle the melody to 'Knowing me, knowing you', Pepper applied a light punch to his upper arm with one fist while her other hand produced a car key fob from her lab coat pocket. “Let's go look at what Happy and the guys did. Your requests have been special enough.”  
  
Rubbing his palms now with a very excited expression, Tony hurried to follow her into the elevator. “Well, I said if I'm going UC, I gotta do it in style, no?” Potts' heels clicked on concrete as they walked along a corridor and stopped in front of a bulletproof, heavy overhead door. “I just knew your inner speed demon would jump at the first chance of taking this case.”

A whiff of basement air greeted them as they entered the coded garage. Pepper swiped her transmitter over a sensor and waited until two displays blinked green at once. All excited, Tony hunkered down and tried to steal a glimpse from underneath the slow lifting slats. “You know me so well, sweetheart.” Amused at his impatience, Pepper flipped a switch in the corner, to which neon lights flickered on with a hum and whirr.  
  
“See if you can work with this one.”  
At the sight of the vehicle resting in the corner, Tony Stark's grin turned as wide as that of the Cheshire Cat.  
“Niiiiiice.”

He walked around the car a couple of times, peeking at the exhaust system and brushing his fingers against the hull with a certain reverence. Pepper leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, and watched him with an expression in between content- and amusement. “Will that be all, Mister Stark?” Composed, cool blue met mischievous dark brown. “That will be all, Miss Potts.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the (very coll.) foreign language bits used in this one are google-translated correctly.. if not, I'll gladly accept native speaker advice!

One evening late in June, Stark came by a little before 11 PM to pick his partner up for their first real undercover run.

Before its mission, the Audi R8 had undergone a severe tuning overhaul; increasing its engine power to 200 mph, thus allowing it to go from 0-60 mph in 3.6 seconds. The body kit had received an upgrade as well, going from standardized silver to customized satin matte blue with contrasting black features, and a giant dual intake scoop behind the passenger headrests. Gold painted brake calipers and a GT3-inspired front air dam completed the look.

It was the perfect vehicle for gaining attraction, and Tony enjoyed being the one put in charge.

As Wayne skipped down the stairs of the multi-residential building, Stark pursed his lips and found himself nodding along in approval at the sight. Wayne wore faded denims, sneakers, and a dark polo shirt topped by a leather jacket. He was also sporting a shorter hairdo that was styled in a spiky fashion. Before the other man could notice his delight, Tony was quick to put up a deflecting, catty smirk.

“No offense, but West Los Angeles?”  
  
Bruce pulled the passenger door open and sunk into the sports seat. “It's what Gordon gave me. What the hell have they done to this car? Ghastly!” The Audi roared out louder than usual as Tony put down his foot on the accelerator a few times. “Pimped it up. Just like they should've done with your crib. Man, you must've really pissed 'em off.” Wayne glared at him with a quick once-over. “Why, where do you live?”  
  
Tony flipped up the collar of his jacket. “Point Dume, Malibu. Front row.” Bruce turned annoyed eyes out of the window, grabbing the seat belt in the process. “Of course.” Stark fumbled with the Audi's sound system until smooth, synthesized saxophone beats reverberated through the night. “Ready, Chase?” Wayne's jaw worked as if he were to shoot back an acerbic reply. Instead, he made an impatient motion with his hand.

“Just go.”

The R8 roared through the night, heading for downtown LA to see and to be seen. On Santa Monica Boulevard, Tony pressed a button to which the electro-hydraulic soft top of the V10 folded shut. The evening air was warm, and Stark slipped on a pair of glasses with bluish-tinted lenses. “Look alive, Wayne. We're on patrol as of now.” Hazel eyes narrowed with spite. “Alive? Like you?” Tony graced him with one of his finest grins.  
  
“Yeah. Start taking notes.”  
  
Skimming over Stark's slicked back hair and neatly trimmed goatee, Wayne grunted with audible disdain. “I'll leave the player part to you.” Tony snapped his bubble gum at him. “So what's it gonna be then? Silent-bodyguard-without-a-sense-of-humor? Wouldn't have to adapt too much.” Not acknowledging him, Bruce then raised his chin and put up a different kind of bored, arrogant look. “Shut it. Potential target at 11 o'clock.”

Resting his left wrist high atop the wheel, Tony adopted a very casual pose in his seat and revved the engine twice. Two male heads inside a yellow Ferrari 458 turned to look at the source of the commotion. “Think they might rise to the bait?” Tony's eyes flew into the rearview mirror as they passed the Italian roadster by.  
  
“Nah, too soon.”

* * *

After two more rounds through Beverly Hills, they stopped at the Confidential nightclub near Rodeo Drive. Stark knew the doormen for whatever reason, and so they found themselves inside soon after. “We have to play it smart. Don't want them to start smelling bacon on us.” With those words, Tony pulled his companion over to one of the many bars around the all-white furnishings.

A group of young men caught their attention after their second round of drinks. Bruce inspected them through the many mirrors in the club, counting at least five who belonged to an inner circle. He also recognized the Ferrari guys. “Hispanics, at least half of them.” Tony nodded, raising his virgin martini to his lips. “Too bad I don't speak Spanish.”

“I do.”  
Surprise flitted over Tony's features. He was quick to replace it with a challenging quirk of his brows.  
“Then why don't you go and get us all acquainted, amigo?”

Wayne ignored him in favor of gesturing for the bartender to hand out a round of tequilas. When the five little glasses appeared in front of the supposed gang members, they were confused and looked around. Bruce then grinned, all winsome in the blink of an eye, and toasted the group with his bottle of lager. “Qué onda?” Licking his lips, Bruce then leaned in and pretended to listen thoroughly. Eventually, he nodded.  
  
“Qué padre.”

Bored with his lack of understanding, Tony flirted up some girls to his left. They were all upon him when he invited them for another round of drinks. One eye out for the actions of his partner, Tony halfheartedly schmoozed along, until Bruce's voice rose over the ruckus of the bar. “Chale! Esas son mamadas, eso que ni qué.” The Hispanics shook their head and continued fast talking to him. Wayne made a dismissive gesture.  
  
“Me vale madres!”  
  
At that, the guys started to laugh. One of them, a dirty blonde without any facial hair who looked to be in his mid-twenties, glanced at Tony. “That R8 outside's yours?” Hooking his elbows upon the counter behind him, Tony widened his stance and slipped the olive stick into his mouth. “Yeah.” The youngster nodded. “Fuckin awesome job on the body kit, man.” Tony responded with a suave wave of his hand.

“Two years of work and a whole lotta bucks later, I've got the baby pimped up real good.” He then tilted his head and chewed on the little piece of plastic. “Call me Easy J.” They exchanged homie handshakes, and the youngster broke into a boastful grin. “Name's Wheels. Nissan Skyline R33 GTR.” Tony's unimpressed look must have spoken volumes because Wheels pointed his chin at him.

“Care for a little demo? Your buddy Chase here said you'd be interested.”  
Tony threw Bruce a glance. There was fire blazing behind Wayne's eyes.  
“Sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué onda? - What’s up?  
> Qué padre. - That's tight.  
> Chale! Esas son mamadas, eso que ni qué. - Give me a break! That’s crazy, no doubt about it.  
> Me vale madres! - IDGAF!
> 
> NB: Tony's pimped up ride is based on this awesome version called the PPI Audi R8 Razor GTR Spyder:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1a/91/bd/1a91bdcf91d5141dc46db9ff143319f8.jpg  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VYJPkLIlV8


	6. Chapter 6

The Nissan turned out to be a dark blue metallic, customized monster with huge orange rims and an equally huge spoiler. Not letting his insecurities show, Tony had gone and replaced the mini plastic stick in his mouth with a piece of gum before he did a courteous walk around the guy's pimped up ride. “Ever done an R8 before?” The youngsters grinned at each other before Wheels cast his opponent a daring look.  
  
“Prepare to get owned, buster.”  
  
No words were exchanged between Stark and Wayne as they got into the Audi and buckled up. Wheels' GTR led the way, with the rest of the gang following at moderate proximity. At some point, Tony snatched the tinted glasses off his nose and held them out into Bruce's direction. Wayne looked at him. “What?” Insistent, Tony shook the item a little. “Hold 'em until I'm done.”

There was something tense about Stark's posture and the way he gripped the wheel, and Bruce silently enjoyed seeing him being not as cocksure as usual. Wordless he held his palm up and Tony dropped the shades into it. “They won't be stupid enough to race out here on Rodeo Drive.” He sounded doubtful. His partner threw a quick glance into the rearview mirror but remained silent otherwise.

They swerved in and out of traffic as inconspicuous as possible, until they had left the populated streets of downtown LA behind and were entering the outer rims of Bel Air. When it was just Wheels' taillights in front, and three pairs of headlights behind, the Nissan tipped his brakes two times. Bruce slid a bit deeper into his seat and applied a precautionary hold onto the door handle to his right.

“That's your clue.”

On the count of three, both sports cars surged forward. They were almost even, until bright flames shot out of the exhaust pipes of the Nissan, illuminating the night sky. Tony blinked, perplexed. “The fuck?” Wheels slayed them with a sudden boost that pushed his car forward and ultimately scored his victory. When they were back rolling alongside each other, the driver side window of the Nissan rolled down.  
  
The youngster wore a smug and self-complacent expression.  
“Nice try, man. Better luck next time.”  
When Tony looked at him, Bruce once more remained taciturn.  
  
Instead, he held up the pair of glasses for Tony to grab.  
There was a crack in one of the lenses.  
“Well, fuck.”

* * *

“They're most likely using something to tune their cars even more.”

Bruce mused aloud while pacing the office the next day. Tony sat at their desk with his feet propped up, eating a squished burger from a drive-thru, while trying to pick off the pickles he knew he had not ordered with ginger fingers. "Nitrous oxide.” His mouth-full statement made Bruce look at him, faint disgust at the specks of sauce on Tony's face. “Pardon?” Stark nodded and gestured along with his half-eaten burger.

“Laughing gas. Common way to boost performance.”

With gritted teeth, Wayne reached into the bag and threw some paper tissues at him. “I don't need to be told what nitrous oxide is. Especially not by someone who eats like a pig.” After pulling a face, a diligent Tony nevertheless wiped at his mouth and chin. “We're gonna need an upgrade. Gotta see if Potts from OTD is free this afternoon.”

After stuffing the rest of his lunch into his mouth, he got up and threw the crumpled remains into a far away trash can with a well-trained shot. The unimpressed look on Bruce's face never wavered. “The Audi can handle them the way it is. You just have to learn how to race.” With some tsking sounds, Stark walked past him, poking his chest. “My ride, my rules. Sides, you still owe me a new pair of Oliver Peoples, homie.”  
  
He and his sarcasm were gone before Bruce noticed the ketchup-y fingertip stain on his crisp white button down shirt. Before Tony could drag him over to the Operational Technology Division, Wayne disappeared, only to set foot into the department half an hour later, dressed in a fresh and clean shirt underneath his suit jacket. There, he found Stark in the company of a tall, red-haired woman.  
  
Both looked up at him when the secured door buzzed open after an initial security scan. Tony gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. “Finally! Done touching up your makeup? Pottsy-Pie, meet Chazzy McChuckles, the light of my life.” Bruce cast him a seething glare and went to shake the woman's hand. “Bruce Wayne, pleasure.” Her blue, clever eyes were quick to assess him from head to toe.

After deciding that she liked what she saw, she smiled at him. “Pepper Potts. We should open a club for suffering nickname victims.” He nodded with as much empathy as he could afford to muster up. “I'm in.” Tony put his arms akimbo and pulled a face. “Stop fraternizing when I can hear you and rather gear our asses up, babydoll.” Bruce looked as if he pondered ripping off his head for his indecency.

The smile on Pepper's face grew lethal. With a smooth motion, she pushed off the edge of the desk she had leaned against. When she walked up to him, hips swaying dangerously, taking off her glasses in the process, Stark swallowed and attempted a grin. The high, cheeping sound he made when she grabbed him by the front of his jacket, however, resembled that of a frightened animal.  
  
“I'm sorry Tony, _doll_ , but that's nothing I can help your ass with.” Their faces were only inches apart, making his eyebrows rise until they almost disappeared within his hairline. She released him with a saccharine smolder, to which he stumbled slightly backward. When Pepper turned to look at Bruce, she was met with his impassive countenance, even if he seemed to fight a smirk from escaping his twitching lips.

“I think you guys need to speak with Lucius Fox.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Once they walked into the laboratory, a man in his late fifties with graying short hair stood up from his desk and peeked over a pair of half-frame reading glasses. “Ah, the very Mister Wayne. Long time no see.” Baffled, Tony looked from one to the other. “You guys know each other?” Fox cocked his head. “Yes, from the Counterterrorism and Forensic Science Research Unit in Quantico. Been a while.”

Wayne nodded. “Indeed.” Fox astute eyes seized him up, then his face broke into an endearing grin. “Looking good there, Bruce. That haircut takes off five years. At least.” Bruce said nothing, so Tony laughed out loud; even more so when he noticed the slight flush on Wayne's cheeks. “Good thing you didn't say ten years, or else I would've to babysit his minor butt.”

He and Fox then introduced themselves, to which the tall, elder scientist nodded with kind recollection. “Agent Stark, I've heard great stories about you and Agent Rhodes.” Tony's smile became deflecting in between two blinks. “Yeah.” He found a sudden interest in his shoes, which prompted Fox to put his glasses into the pocket of his lab coat and walk over to where a Bunsen burner idled along.

With a deft move, he flicked off the tapered pin. Once he focused on his two guests, he was relieved to find Stark's jovial facade back in place. “You and Bruce are going to have a lot of fun.” Tony's face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I'm the last chance he gets before it's IST time.” Fox looked at him with a quizzical expression. “IST?” All emphatic, Stark nodded. “Interpersonal Skills Training.” Bruce's hands clenched into fists.

“Bite me.”  
The hissed remark was met with an equally hissed, if less lethal answer.  
“Oh, you wish.”  
  
Fox cleared his throat to which Bruce forced his fingers to relax. “Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” Naturally, Stark piped up first. “We need something against NOS-powered rides. A hearty dose of it.” Fox looked at him with polite enthusiasm. “You want me to give your car the necessary booster.” Tony voiced his consent with an eager nod. “Yup.” The elder man tapped a finger against his chin.

“I can do that of course, but it has to be approved by your superior in advance.”

Stark looked at his partner.   
“Someone needs to talk to the Deputy Chief of Staff.”   
At that, Bruce suddenly felt much more in control.

“Leave that to me.”

* * *

“... and that is why, frankly, this whole endeavor does not make any sense.”  
  
Bruce finished his report with a long exhale of breath and readjusted his hands on the tabletop. Across from him, James Gordon stopped eying the status of a little cactus on the windowsill. It had been a present from his wife, seeing Barbara was convinced it was a plant even he could not kill. From the desolate looks of it, Jim figured she might have been wrong.  
  
He focused back on the petulant countenance in front and found Wayne's narrowed eyes on the innocent succulent. Gordon shifted in his seat, to which the agent's attention switched back to him. “You see, Wayne, the FBI does make exceptions for unorthodox methods.” The Deputy Chief nodded, almost as if to reassure himself. “As long as neither of you starts taking illegal substances, I don't see why it should be a problem.”  
  
He reached into his desk and produced a piece of stationery. Bruce tried for a final attempt to change his mind and leaned forward. “Sir, may I remind you that Stark is already wielding an unusual amount of horsepower around. I do not wish to expose the public to his reckless stunts should he add any chemical enhancements to an inflammable engine.”

Already busy typing, Gordon nodded along, outstretched index finger circling the keyboard searching for the backslash. “He will have to absolve an initial driver's training at first. I trust you to supervise his activities and report back to me only in case of any unforeseen problems. Thank you, Agent Wayne.” Before he left the office, being dismissed, Bruce cast the yellow cactus a final, mean glare. "Sir."  
  
The permission was through no more than half an hour later.

* * *

The upcoming day, Bruce found his partner in the lab, together with Fox, busy testing out the first experimental dosages of Nitrous oxide on the Audi. By now, the sports car was sitting high upon the laboratory's own dynamometer, engine audibly running. Four heavy tie-downs sat at the rear and two at the front, together with a set of axle straps and four-wheel chocks to block the stationary wheels.

Lucius Fox, equipped with a pair of huge headphones, motioned for Bruce to wait outside. The person behind the wheel – Tony Stark, also wearing similar ear protection – just then cranked up the modified engine. Even though the front was made from high quality acoustic laminated glass, Bruce felt the ground underneath shake as the supercar across from him teetered in its confines.

At some point, the high-pitched whine of the engine culminated in a huge outburst of exhaust flames; bright blue at first, then bright orange. Fox all but jumped in front of the car, making a crisscrossing gesture with his arms. Smoke fizzled up as Stark powered down. As soon as the engine had switched off, Fox then pressed a button to which the electric strike device buzzed and allowed Bruce to enter.

Inside, it smelled of burnt rubber and gasoline. The hum of electric fans filled the air. Tony's left arm dangled out of an open window as he gestured along. “Nice one, Foxy, but I think there's more to bring to the table yet.” Bruce came closer and cast the R&D specialist a disapproving look. “This isn't a car anymore – it's a fucking flamethrower.” Fox kept a mild-mannered expression, so Tony glimpsed up at his partner.  
  
“Well, you're not wrong.”  
  
The shake of Wayne's head spoke volumes. Stark did not have time to elaborate after something else caught Bruce's attention. “... and what the hell is this?” Tony craned his head to follow his pointed finger. “Safe to say the engine block, schnookums.” Dissatisfied with his cheeky answer, Bruce kept on glaring at the offending item. It was a huge silver sticker that adorned the glass cover of the engine, reading _'Please send nudes'_

“Oh, that. Feel free to have dibs on that offer, Chucky boy.”  
At a loss for words, Wayne turned and stormed out of the garage.  
His held up middle finger was met with a hearty laugh on Tony's side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see an R8 in action on a dyno pull, please go here (please mind the volume!):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ist4M3JAFPE


	8. Chapter 8

The driver's training took place on a secluded and partly paved circuit belonging to the Bureau. Under the watchful eyes of his colleague and his stopwatch, Stark absolved several sprints down the tarmac, burning through a lot of nitrous oxide and simultaneously rubber before finding the right way of balancing the spurt of added horsepower.

While Tony was ecstatic about the whole experience, Bruce avoided getting into the passenger seat, always expecting the worst. Just then, the R8 skidded to a halt a couple of yards away, dust flying up left and right. Tony leaned over and pushed the passenger door open with a come-hither gesture. “C'mon now, get in. I wanna run a couple of tests with added weight.” Bruce looked once more at the times before he pocketed his phone.

“Unnecessary. Provided you can keep a straight line, you should be good as it is.” A mocking grin spread out on Tony's lips. “Ahh, now I get it. You're planning on getting out like a coward before each race.” Wayne crossed his arms. “The less time spent with you, the better.” A shared glare. “Why did you take this case if you're such a pussy?” Bruce's sour expression turned malicious. “I didn't expect to get assigned to such a dimwit.”

The way he said it prompted Stark to unbuckle and push his door open. “Okay, that's it.” He stormed around to where Wayne stood as solid as a rock. “I'm gonna punch your fucking lights out and I'm gonna enjoy every fucking minute of it!” His snarled dramatics, combined with him pushing up his sleeves, had Bruce smirking in presumptuous delight. “You're going to regret this.” Tony's dark eyes blazed. “Shut the fuck up!”  
  
Without further ado Stark advanced in on him, fast on his feet like a coil spring, ready to pounce. Wayne managed to avoid most jabs through years of sparring and arduous boxing matches. In return, Tony's fast-paced, martial arts defense made it hard to get a hit in. When he did manage to grab a fistful of fabric, Bruce made use of his height and weight advantage and drew back his right arm.

His well-placed punch to the other man's sternum knocked Tony down, eliciting a gasp as the air was sucked from his lungs. Stark was surprisingly quick to jump to his feet again and threw himself headfirst at Bruce, taking away his equilibrium and bringing him down to the sandy ground. For a while, they grappled and rolled around in the dirt next to the tarmac, faces red from exertion and adrenaline.

When it seemed as if Bruce had the upper hand, he knelt down on his opponent's elbows, hands around Stark's throat. Out of nowhere, Tony's legs found a way of kneeling him hard in the kidneys from behind. Distracted by momentary pain, Bruce was unable to do anything as Stark applied a scissor-clasp around his waist and yanked him aside, to start their violent and undignified struggle anew.

As soon as he had obtained the upper hand, Tony put his forearm down hard on Bruce's windpipe and pressed. “The fuck is wrong with you, Wayne? The fuck is your problem?” His words came out slightly wet, to which Bruce's dust smeared face scrunched up in disgust. “You are.” The side of his hand came flying and connected with Tony's left temple, causing him to loosen his grip.

Wayne freed himself when Stark's vision seemed to swim for a moment, and rolled out of his close proximity. Tony remained kneeling on the spot, muttering expletives under his breath. Bruce risked a glimpse over to the R8, only to do a double-take. “The car!” At that, Stark raised his head. The Audi idly rolled down the track, away from them, doors open wide, headed for a couple of trees on the side of the track.  
  
Tony looked at Bruce, Bruce looked at Tony.  
  
_“SHIT!!”_  
  
A mutual exclamation later, they scrambled to their feet and set off in a hectic sprint to catch up with the expensive prototype. Tony went left, Bruce right of the Audi, grabbed onto a respective door and started to push. Gravel crunched under their soles as each dug their heels deep into the ground, bracing themselves against the kinetic energy to prevent the 3,800 lbs from heading further down the incline.  
  
Just before the R8 could encounter any damaging obstacles in its way, they succeeded in slowing the car down enough for Tony to reach inside and yank at the parking brake. Once the wheels had stopped moving for good, they dared to release their grip on the open doors. While they stood, gathering their breaths and trying to grasp what had just happened in the past few minutes, they avoided looking at each other.

Roaming his eyes over the undamaged state of the supercar, Tony eventually released a breath and risked a glimpse over at his partner. “Good catch.” Dusty from head to toe, Bruce fingered a rip in his sleeve and shot him a darkened look that spoke of contempt. A red blotch was starting to manifest itself on his pale throat. Tony began to rub at his aching chest and probed his tongue against the raw inside of his left cheek.  
  
“None of this ever took place.”  
His voice sounded conciliatory. To his surprise, Bruce nodded.  
“Agreed.”

Regarding his own soiled appearance, Tony frowned at the posh interior. “Fuckin upholstery's gonna need a good vacuum cleaning if we get in like this.” Still busy brushing at the sheen of dirt on his pants, Wayne met his gaze. “No skinny driving.” At the deadpan retort, Tony laughed out loud.  
  
“Agreed.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce Wayne had a headache.

That about summed up the time after they returned to the scene with their improved ride and its enhanced NOS injection system under the hood. Back in what had become their weekly nightlife routine in LA, Bruce found himself watching Tony swagger through the crowd on the dance floor. There was a certain kind of gracefulness to the way he moved, and not all of it was solely owned to his undercover role.

His fighting technique was called Wing-Chun, Bruce had found out during a rather spontaneous little research. After having witnessed it firsthand, lithe and supple came to Wayne's mind. He caught himself frowning at his wayward train of thought and sipped from his too fizzy, isotonic drink. Strangely enough, things had become easier between them ever since they had duked it out on the test track.  
  
Afterward, upon looking like they had been dunked into a flour silo, Stark had amended his rambunctious actions by heading for a drive-thru. He paid for two soft drinks with extra ice to press against swollen knuckles and even drove his partner all the way home. "Remind me not to spar with you again, Wayne. I swear that one punch left a dent." Tony ran a hand over his chest again and grimaced in a semi-serious fashion.

Maybe, Bruce thought, Stark was not that much of an idiot.

Just then Tony caught his eye, almost as if he had read his mind, and grinned into his direction, teeth flashing bright white. Bruce did not mirror it, and instead inspected their surroundings. The stroboscopic lights and bass-laden music caused the dull throbbing behind his temples to intensify, making him squint.

By now, the nasty headache had been accompanying him for two weeks in a row. Despite not one for taking painkillers, Bruce was seriously considering Tylenol just to get some sleep. He palmed his forehead and swung around as a club goer bumped into him by accident. When he turned back, Stark's silhouette had manifested by his side, brushing against him in the semi-dark, together with a whiff of spicy fragrance.

“You 'kay?”

Stark's breath, laced with the sweet flavor of an energy drink, was a warm gust of air on Bruce's ear, seeing he leaned in close to be understood. “Course.” A hand then found its way around Bruce's nape and gave a little squeeze that was probably meant to be amicable. The tight muscles in his back jerked on their own accord, and Stark's fingers start to give him a massage. Embarrassed and indignant, Wayne tried to draw away.

“I'm fine.”

Tony released him, though not with a reproachful, sideways glance. “By the way, I just witnessed something going down in the far corner to the left. Don't look, but it seems like we've got ourselves some petty little drug runners there. If they're consumers as well, it's bound to be a piece of cake. Or crack, rather.” Bruce made a derogative sound. "Many people in the trade don't actually use. Fastest way to put yourself out of business."

When his partner proceeded to look at him in expectation, it prompted Bruce to frown. “What?” Stark grinned. “I was just waiting for you to finish your tirade with a classic 'Drugs are bad, m'kay' but got severely disappointed.” The Gothamite's headache returned with a vengeance. “Huh?” Tony curled his lips. “I guess you're not into South Park.” He received a very flat look in return. “You guessed right.”

Always keeping an eye out for their target group, they interrupted their strange conversation to greet the youngsters from afar. They meanwhile had names to go with the designated gang members. There was Wheels, supposed leader of the bunch with his Nissan GTR. From what info Tony and Bruce had garnered, his real name was Tobias Bradford and he was the son of a wealthy governor from Portland.  
  
Following his wake was D-Dog, 28, whose real name was Dominic Sutton. He had already done jail time as a teen, and his crooked nose spoke of a brawl gone bad. He was never shy to show off the scars on his arms from a knife fight either, and his black Cobra Saleen S-281 was his whole pride and joy. Completing the inner circle were three Mexicans going by the names of Loco, Dose, and Needles.

The latter, Miguel Sanchez, was a skittish fellow for his 21 years; suspicious of everything and everyone after losing his BMW M3 in a racing accident. Loco, or Luis da Silva, owned the yellow Ferrari, though it remained unclear as to how he had managed to obtain it, being a mere student at the age of 23. Dose, usually going by Diego Velacruz, was two years older and in possession of a pimped up Subaru BRZ in white.

Putting the empty can of iso drink aside, Wayne spoke into the general direction of his partner's ear. “Something's different tonight.” Tony nodded along. “They're edgy. Too edgy.” Bruce shoved a piece of chewing gum between his teeth, straightened up and flicked the wrapping into an ashtray. “Let's see.” When he casually strolled over to have a little conversation, Loco and Dose were the easiest to approach.

His fluent Spanish had gotten him a good rep with them, so Bruce made use of his skills. “Qué estás haciendo, güey? A dónde van?” The rest of his Mexican slang faded out over the music. Watching him, Tony marveled at the way Wayne was able to reverse his introvert persona into someone who made friends easily. After a rather short time, however, Bruce came back, still jaunty, if only as a facade.  
  
“Something's going down. My guess is they're heading out any minute now.”  
Tony withheld the urge to turn around and watch them leave.  
“Okay, Mr. Mackey, let's get going.”  
  
Bruce did not bother to ask about who or what he was talking about. Two minutes later, they stood outside in the smoker's area, and Tony pulled out a pack of cigarettes. One click of a lighter later, he blew out the first gust of smoke. “Want one?” At the bluish fumes drifting his way, Bruce pressed his lips together. “No.” He went to the far end of the smoker's lounge where he propped a sneakered foot up on the wall.  
  
As he redid his shoelaces, his eyes followed the familiar vehicles of D-Dog and Dose when they headed out to the left, while Wheels and Loco drove off into the opposite direction. Mouth grim, Bruce finished his task and strolled back over to where Tony stood, cigarette dangling from his lips while he was checking his mobile. “Now what? Wanna toss a coin? Heads we're going after Wheels, tails we're going after D-Dog.”  
  
Tony dropped his smoke and crushed it under his heel. Bruce spat the stale piece of gum into a trashcan. “No use tonight. Let's head home.” The pounding right behind his eyes was back and had intensified yet again. Blinking against little white triangles that obscured his vision, Bruce was so caught up in trying to zip up his leather jacket, he almost tripped on the curb. In an instant, a hand was on his arm, steadying him.  
  
"Whoa, dude, what was in your drink again?"  
Bruce shook him off, angry more at himself than at Tony's attempt to help, and yanked at the Audi's door handle.  
“Open up.”

* * *

By the time Tony had arrived in West LA, it was already close to 3 AM. An exhausted Bruce Wayne had long since dozed off in the R8's passenger seat, head tilted to the side. Coming to a halt in the semi-light of a nearby streetlamp, Stark turned off the engine and sat in the dark for a while, watching him sleep with a pensive expression. His eyes darted all over Wayne's features; features that for once held no hint of their usual scowl.

With a deep inhale, Bruce stirred and blinked his surroundings back into focus. Quick to avert his gaze, Tony fumbled with the virtual cockpit. “We there?” Bruce cleared his voice, wiped over his face, and shifted higher. Stark nodded, still toggling with the display to appear busy. “Yup. Home sweet home. Or... not. Two words: Ocean view.” In an instant, the scowl was back on Wayne's face and Tony inwardly sighed to himself.

“Good for you. Good night.”  
  
Not looking back, Bruce unbuckled and exited the car in a swift move.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué estás haciendo, güey? A dónde van? - What’s going on, bro? Where are you going?  
> (thank you @ black_queen for helping me out here :))


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Bruce slept in, ate a hearty breakfast, and was glad to find his headache gone for the most part. Seeing he had no real obligations to be in the office during a UC case, he spent his time going for a run in the still unknown neighborhood and bought groceries on the way back home. It was 4 PM by the time he then decided to head out to the firing range to get some marksman exercise in.  
  
After the first fifteen minutes, he had emptied two clips into his faceless target and felt he was being watched. Securing the Glock 22, Bruce straightened up and glimpsed around. Tony Stark stood a few feet away, wearing a pair of headphones around his neck and a pair of tinted safety glasses. A base cap sat on his head, saying 'FBI' in bold, white letters. His gun was still fastened in his shoulder holster.  
  
He broke into a grin and motioned for Bruce to lower his ear protection. “Ha, surprise, surprise. What brings you out here today?” With a visible roll of his eyes, Bruce lowered his gun and released the empty clip. “I ran out of milk. What's it look like?” He left him standing to go grab another couple of magazines to stash into his vest. Tony watched him prep the weapon for the longest time until he sauntered into the adjacent booth.

“How's the head?”  
Stark's question was so soft, Bruce almost missed it even without headphones.  
“Better.”  
  
With a resolute motion, Wayne then slipped the thick protection over his ears again, and Stark followed suit. For a while, they kept on shooting at the bottle-shaped silhouettes side by side. After another emptied magazine, Tony cocked his hip and held the gun in a safety position. “Pacifist at heart?” He pointed at Bruce's bullet-riddled paper target. Annoyed, Wayne pulled the headphones down again. "What?"  
  
Tony repeated his cheeky statement and Bruce's eyes narrowed in vexation. “What's that supposed to mean?” Stark looked at the targets again. “No fatal hits on your score sheet, Mister Ex-Ranger. Wonder why.” Bruce cut him off with the brusque gesture of ramming yet another new magazine into his gun. “Done analyzing things that are none of your fucking business?” A tutting noise.  
  
“I just wondered about this weird, compassionate streak of yours.”  
Wayne barked out a humorless laugh.  
“There isn't one, you're mistaken.”  
  
At that, Tony quirked his left eyebrow. “In that case - last one to get in ten clean head shots in a row buys dinner.” Wayne's stern mouth curled in faint amusement. “I don't like KFC or any of those cheap fast food joints.” Without bothering to wait, he turned towards the target area and began to fire. Tony was quick to catch up, which led to a tight race that ended in a draw, seeing they both finished at the same time.

"Seeing you cheated with a head start, I should be the one picking the grub."

Miffed at not having won outright, Wayne packed up and threw his duffel over his shoulder. “Let's get this over with.” Soundless whistle on his lips, Tony hastened to match his fast stride, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “I, personally, like KFC for a fact, but I'm cool with Applebee's instead.” Wayne stopped walking. “On one condition.” At Tony's expectant look, Bruce snatched the base cap from his head.  
  
“Leave that fucking thing here.”

* * *

They ended up taking Bruce's own car -a nondescript, elder Toyota Tacoma pickup truck in black- to get to the restaurant in question. Over a clubhouse sandwich for Stark, and grilled lemon chicken for Wayne, the mood between them was more than strained and awkward. After finishing half of his sandwich, Tony tried to break the ice in his usual, cheerful way.

“We're going out tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Do you speak Spanish just for the job?”

“No.”

“I speak some Italian, even if not very fluent.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony dipped his fries into the last bit of mayonnaise and rolled his eyes.  
“You're really the worst socializer I've ever come across, and boy, that says something.”  
He got a calculating glimpse out of hazel eyes before Wayne continued to poke at his food.

“You wanted dinner, not a conversation club. I suggest you eat up, we need to get ready.”  
Stark's eyes held a tinge of hurt, which he quickly covered up with some flawless sass.  
“Don't bother giving me a ride, Imma go catch a cab. Later, gator.”

He threw his napkin onto the table, pushed back his chair and left. Despite not wanting to, Bruce did look up to see Tony's back disappear outside around the corner. He then stopped pretending to eat and pulled out a small bundle of dollar bills held together with a rubber band. After paying and washing his hands, he stepped out on the parking lot. Across the street, he saw Stark walking uptown, looking for a cab.  
  
With a snarl that sounded much like a sigh to his own ears, Bruce turned the keys and brought his truck up to roll next to Stark. The latter threw him a peeved glare out of the corner of his eye and kept on walking. “Get in before I'll change my mind.” Wordless, Tony then did as he was told. His jaw was locked as he buckled up. “How am I s'posed to know there's no cabs round this part of town?”

Bruce had no answer to that. After less than two minutes of silent driving, Tony bent forward and stared at the hard plastic middle console. “A cassette deck. Oh, my.” His voice held a cooing tinge. “Does it still work? What's in there?” He poked his pinkie finger into the slot, finding it empty. “Aw, too bad.” Tony's brazen fingers then switched the radio on, only to be met with awfully loud static.  
  
Both men winced, and it was Wayne who turned the radio off again. “Take your damn hands off.” Pouting, Stark leaned back and fished for his mobile. “Who the hell drives without any kind of music?” Bruce ignored him further, so Tony fished out his mobile and began immersing himself in texting in a rapid manner. When he realized they had stopped after a while, Stark raised his head and looked around.  
  
Stupefaction was written square across his expressive countenance. “I don't live here.” Bruce's smirk became ferocious as he pulled off the keys, unbuckled and opened his door. “Well, I do.” A thumb pointed across the street. “No ocean view, but at least this part of town has cabs.” Tony mumbled something that sounded a bit like 'See you later you fucker' as he stormed off, but Bruce was not entirely sure.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Toyota Tacoma pick-up truck inspiration:  
> http://blog.autopartstoys.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/4.jpg


	11. Chapter 11

Easy J and Chase were back to being their fake but flawless best buddy selves when they sauntered into the club late that night. They laughed, they drank, they flirted with some female club goers, and eventually, they got another chance at proving themselves. Out where Dose, Needles and Wheels were smoking cigarettes, Tony asked for a light and gestured along with his smoke.

“I consider Honda Civics with big spoilers and 4" exhaust tips to be ricers, man. No offense.”  
He was pushing it and he knew. Wheels laughed and held up a brofist that Tony accepted.  
“F'sure! Don't need no fucking ricers. You've got style, even though you sucked my exhaust last time.”  
  
Crude snickers from the other gang members. Tony bared his teeth in a mocking grin. “Yeah, but seriously? Those rolling races are for pussies. If your car can't hook out of the hole, you roll race. I dunno why you guys are into that, but that's for sure not how I expected Cali to get down.” At his dismissive tone and the grin he shared with his buddy Chase, Wheels all but bristled.  
  
“Course not! We race every day, man. And not just this kindergarten shit!”

“Which days are best for some real action then?” Tony played the eager but innocent card well. It prompted Wheels to give a cryptic grin that still showed his true age. “Thursday night at a local meet. Who knows, one day you may even get invited to ride along.” “Ride along? Where?” Tony's enthusiasm was only part-fake. The youngster stomped out his smoke and whirled up dust under his feet.

“Patience, man, have patience. It'll pay off, turbo, believe me.”  
  
“I'd be in the mood to go a few rounds right now.” Tony exhaled a wonky smoke ring. “It's been two days, my ride's ready to get down to business.” Wheels twirled his car key ring around a finger. “Too hot out tonight. Bunch of cock sucking faggots in this governmental shithole are everywhere.” Neither Bruce nor Tony flinched at that. “What happened?” It was D-Dog who pointed a thumb at his Cobra Saleen.

“Racing with modifications gets your car impounded faster than you can whip out your dick. Loco and I passed smog super clean, but those fuckheads failed us on the 'visual' test.” He spit on the floor. Loco then chimed in, scratching at a spot on his neck where a black tattoo peeked out which looked like the upper half of two large numbers. “Fuck this place, we're heading out further south anyhow soon.”

Securing his smoldering cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Tony slipped two fingers into the inside pocket of his jacket. A nervous surge went through both Loco and Needles, until they saw Tony holding up a fairly thick bundle. “I'm bettin' two grand that I'll beat any of you in a real drag race.” All of the gang member's eyes followed the bundle's move. Wheels then gave a sharp whistle.  
  
“Man, you're loaded. What the fuck?”  
As quick as he had whipped the money out, Tony made a point in stashing it again.  
“So, we're gonna race or not?”

“What about the fresa?” Needles was pointing at Bruce, who had not said a word up until then. Tony pushed his jaw forward. “Chase is on. Half of the money is his.” That had not been what they had discussed, but just as flawless as Tony constructed the lie, Wayne glared at the skinny Mexican. “Yeah, man, the fuck I'm staying behind.” He sounded petulant enough for Loco to slap Needles' chest.  
  
“C'mon, cabrón. No mames.”  
It was Wheels who made the final decision.  
"Follow us on a two car interval over to San Fernando Road.”

While Needles still glowered, Loco and Dose grinned at them.  
  
“Ahí nos vidrios!”

* * *

Their very first street racing battle took place on an empty, long stretch of the road. D-Dog's Cobra Saleen pulled up right next to them and let his engine roar out a number of times. Tony accepted by firing the R8 up, spinning its tires to get them hot and laid down a patch of rubber for better traction. D-Dog lowered his window. “Up to where the billboard is.”

He pointed ahead at some huge illuminated advertising sign a few yards away. Next to Tony, Bruce shifted deeper into his seat and re-fastened the belt tighter around his body. “Don't smoke him too much at first try.” Tony kept his eyes out for the signal from Loco who had taken up the position of flagger in front of the two cars and gestured for them to stand at an even line. “Bet I can drag his ass by two secs or more.”

His fingers twitched upon the shift paddles on the wheel. Bruce gave a soft harrumph. “Still, don't make it look too easy.” At that, Stark tilted his head with a cocky smirk. “Ah, but I'm Easy J, remember?” He breathed out and wiggled deeper into the sports' seat, gripping the wheel with determination. “Don't worry and hold on tight.” As soon as Loco switched on the flashlight, the Audi peeled off the asphalt with a loud growl.

Off to a splendid start, Tony just floored it.

For a few moments, they were side by side with the Saleen, until they felt the Nitrous Oxide kick in on the final yards. It prompted D-Dog to fall behind with no chance of catching up. “Slow it down.” Bruce's voice was neutral, even if he kept his right hand curled around the door handle. Careful not to over-steer, Tony took his foot off the accelerator and downshifted, to which the Audi roared out loud.

“We fucking did it.” He gave a little whoop and loosened his tight shoulders. “Admit it, this feels rad.” No comment. Tony glimpsed to his right and saw the rigid posture and profile of his partner. “C'mon, Mister Phillips, you gotta give me something to work with. Just a little emotion here.” Bruce's eyes focused on the rear view mirror to see their contender putting his car in reverse.

“No.”

“No isn't an an emotion.”

“With me it is.”

Wayne managed to suppress even the smallest, lopsided grin from crossing his lips, and Tony pretended he did not see it. They did a careful u-turn to not scrape the low body kit of the R8 on the dusty side of the road and returned to the remaining cars on the side of the road. A very subdued D-Dog looked at Tony's outstretched hand. “Nice race. Now hand over those two grand.”

The younger man did not meet his eyes. “Half of it now, half of it next time.” At that, Tony and Bruce shared a look which prompted Wayne to square his broad shoulders. He was taller than all of them and crossed his arms to reinforce his disdain. “Nah man, that's shit. Pay up now.” Needles, Dose and Loco began to talk fast and hushed in Spanish, until the latter looked at the two men.  
  
“We've got the rest at our clubhouse.” Without hesitations, Bruce nodded. “So let's head over and get it.” Wayne's commandeering voice and presence left no room to argue. Needles kept on glaring at him, but Wheels nudged D-Dog's shoulder. “C'mon.” As they walked for their respective cars, Tony motioned for Dose to slow his steps and pointed at Needles.  
  
“Geez, what's with him? Fella's damn anal about everything."  
The young Hispanic shrugged.  
“Some marimba will relax him just fine.”

As they sat and followed the convoy of cars, Tony made a few clicking sounds with his tongue. “So far, we've got illegal races and drugs... anything else? Gun trafficking maybe? The big trifecta?” Wayne shrugged, his face illuminated by the street lights passing by. “ We need to get a closer look at their books to be able to tell.” Stark turned his head towards him with a wolfish grin.

“Looks like a good night's out in _my_ book.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fresa - preppie/snob/spoiled brat  
> cabrón - a not directly translatable adjective /meant in this case: buddy, pal, and/or mate (like ‘dude’)  
> No mames - Stop being an asshole  
> Ahí nos vidrios - See you later, guys  
> marimba - slang term for marijuana
> 
> *waiting nervously for black_queen's native speaker judgement*


	12. Chapter 12

They ended up at a bungalow in some shady part of Westlake Los Angeles.  
  
The apartment smelled stale and unaired, with overflowing ashtrays and empty bottles lined up next to a u-shaped assortment of mismatched couch elements. The blinds were down, so D-Dog went to turn up some dim light in the corner. Dose motioned for them to take a seat while Wheels went out to return with a nondescript white envelope he pushed into Tony's hands.

"Sweet. I'm sure you guys won't mind me tally up what you got here."

Satisfied at the ten $100 bills inside, Tony stashed it away in the inside pocket of his jacket. Needles went to turn on some kind of hip hop music, its deep subwoofer bass reverberating through the air. "Let's get lit, man." His eyes narrowed in on the two strangers in their middle as he waved a little pack in mid-air. "Time to see how you guys can handle some real good dank."  
  
“I ain't getting high on some cheap 420 shit. I'll end up puking my fucking guts out.” Bruce's refusal was met with stony silence. He pulled a little package filled with some greenish leaves out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I brought my own.” Without bothering to wait for approval, he leaned forward and began to prepare a joint with nimble fingers. His actions prompted the rest of the gang to also start rolling their blunts.

Bruce finished his work and handed it over to Tony, who took it with the slightest tug of bafflement on his lips and groped around for a light. “Blaze it, man.” Wayne aka Chase then slapped his buddy's chest and turned arrogant eyes to D-Dog. “Anything to drink round here?” Upon his request, D-Dog put his hands around his mouth and hollered over into a nearby room, to which the sound of clicking heels erupted.

The girl was not older than 26, with a tan complexion, long dark hair, and feminine curves. She regarded Bruce with piqued interest before her lips stretched. “Hola, I'm Leticia.” Wayne's grin turned into a mixture between a smolder and a simper, exposing a set of well-hidden dimples. “Chase. Qué tal?” She gestured between them and the kitchen, where a battery of bottles was lined up on a counter.  
  
“Thirsty. Like you.”  
He flicked the tip of his tongue into the corner of his mouth and stood up to walk into her direction.  
“Entonces bebamos.”

Tony watched her prepare two mixed drinks while Bruce exposed a whole new side to his UC persona. Leticia did not seem to mind his lewd and leering male attitude and intrusive behavior and flirted up a storm in return. Loco propped his feet up on the table. “Your güero sure gets down to the nitty gritty fast.” Stark cast Wayne and the young woman another glance and smirked with a click of the tongue.  
  
“You probably wouldn't believe it, but Chase here gets more ass than a toilet seat.”

Crude laughter all around. Tony had to accept a light from Wheels, seeing his lighter was nowhere to be found and the other guys were already smoking. A sweet, pungent smell hung in the air, and Tony tried to take shallow breaths. He took a first cautious drag and noticed the unique flavor. A pro in keeping face, he casually smoked until Bruce and his company decided to join their circle, drinks in hand.

“Yo, Chase.” Tony handed the stub over. “Weird stuff.” Wayne gave him a two finger salute, wedged the cigarette between his lips and threw himself into a chair, pulling Leticia along. After Bruce had taken several puffs of his joint, she made grabby hands as well, exposing long, dark-red painted nails. He responded by clasping her wrist and narrowed his eyes.

“Forget it, chica. I like my hoes buzzed, not trashed.” He reinforced his misogynistic statement by throwing the almost finished joint into the remains of her drink. Bruce's hand then cupped the back of Leticia's head and pulled her close. Tony was unable to see what was going on behind the curtain of her black hair and threw a casual glance over to the gang.

Neither of the other boys seemed to mind Wayne making out right in front of their eyes, so Tony made a point in pulling his baseball hat deep into his face and leaned back into the ratty couch, feigning drugged bliss. He watched on how Bruce slouched in the chair, Leticia in his lap, and fed her his remaining drink. By now, her petite hand was square on his chest, their voices hushed, speaking Spanish.

Every now and then she giggled and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. A glimpse at the rest of the gang revealed all of them were in a spaced out state, to which Tony dared to look at his partner again. At exactly the same point, Bruce's eyes found his. They indicated to something outside of the living room they were chilling at. Stark then pretended to slide off the dirty couch with difficulty.

“Gotta take a piss.”  
Wheels made a lazy, off-beat gesture.  
“Last door down the aisle on th' right.”  
  
With some unsteady steps, Tony wobbled over to where a corridor with several doors lay in the dark. The third room he peeked into had an office-like character and he risked a glimpse inside before approaching steps made him fall back into his doped up pretense. When he saw who it was, he was quick to drop the facade. A nod into the direction, then Bruce pointed over to where he had discovered a small safe in the corner.

They gestured along in nonverbal communication which prompted Wayne to go back to check for eventual bystanders. When there were no sounds and no commotion, he followed Tony into the room and remained standing by the ajar door. Stark inspected the safe from close up and made a soft, tutting sound. “Can't believe you made me smoke peppermint. And what the fuck was that? Thought I needed to get you two a room.”

Bruce ignored his jibe and inspected the little tablet Tony had pulled from his jacket. “How long's this going to take? We don't have much time.” Kneeling down, Tony ran crazy fast, nimble fingers across the screen. “This software interfaces with the lock at its programming port. All I need's some schweet wifi, then we'll simply run a sequence of numbers until it hits the right combination.”

“Can you do it?”

“Course!”  
  
Behind him, Bruce shifted with impatience; an ever-present eye and ear out towards the main area. “Work on the details. There'll be no second try.” Busy typing, Tony snorted. “Details schmetails. Now shuddup, I gotta focus.” Bruce glowered at his nape and the blueish, illuminated part of his face. After two more minutes, he exhaled with a hiss. “Goddammit, hurry up! You said you were good at this!”

Tony harrumphed and switched from one knee to the other, tablet bouncing along on his wiry thigh. “No, you asked if I could _do_ it, not if I was _good_ at it. Stop trying to prove me wrong!” Wayne's eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings as far away sounds from outside reached his ear. “That eventuality's just a bonus.” Adjusting his baseball hat, Tony wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. It came away slick with sweat.

“And that’s how you ruin a life.” Seconds later, a soft click echoed through the night. “Ha! Looks like we've hit paydirt.” While Tony stowed away the pad, Bruce slipped on a pair of thin, disposable gloves, handed one to his partner, and inspected their haul. Inside the safe were two semi-automatics, an envelope, and several files. Wayne skimmed through the papers while Tony looked at the guns and the money.

“Wonder who their bag man is.”

A loud crash made them instantly duck for cover behind the desk. Screams from down the corridor followed, as well as the distinctive sound of approaching sirens. They put all items back, closed the safe and made a move for the door, only to be met with utter chaos. Dose and Needles stumbled past them, beyond frantic in their current, drugged up state.

“SHIT! Police raid! OUT OUT OUT!”

Chairs and tables got thrown aside as the members of the gang fled into the night.

Tony and Bruce played along, running for their lives as bullets began to whiz through the air. Slamming through a backdoor, Wayne raced down an unpopulated alley. An acrid smell hit his nostrils. The agitated huff of Tony's respiration was close behind, just like the yells of police officers and the distant barking of dogs. Bruce slipped on gooey garbage from overthrown trashcans and he started flailing, trying to keep upright.

Then there was Tony's hand around his arm, holding onto him like a vise. “Get down!” Before he could comprehend what was going on, Bruce heard him give out a strangled gasp. He swung around and saw Stark clutching his left shoulder. Tony staggered and stumbled upon wet asphalt, and Bruce dropped down next to him. Dark blood began to ooze out in between Tony's fingers, and Bruce's heart started to race hard.  
  
“Shit! Don't move!”  
With gritted teeth, Stark still attempted to push him away and scrambled back to his feet.  
“You gotta run, c'mon, get outta here...”  
  
Shock made Tony's knees buckle on their own soon enough, and he sunk down with a grunt as the scenery in front of his eyes started to blur. When Bruce tugged at him, trying to turn him over on his back, his weak protests came out as a slurred “Lemme”. Left behind in the dark and dirty alley, Wayne remained kneeling on the ground, supporting his torso, and tried to stop the bleeding.

Tony blinked unseeing eyes up into the sky until they became too heavy and everything became quiet. He, therefore, missed out on how they were cornered and held at gunpoint by at least ten armed and masked SWAT special forces only mere seconds later. Bruce raised one hand into the air, palm up, while keeping the other pressed down on the pulsating wound of his partner.  
  
“Don't shoot! Agents Wayne and Stark, FBI!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qué tal? - How are you?  
> Entonces bebamos. - Then let's drink.  
> Güero - A sometimes derogatory slang term for a fair-skinned or fair-haired male  
> Chica - A hot latina


	13. Chapter 13

Tony woke to the sounds of beeping machines and a sterile, sharp smell. Light flooded his vision as he attempted to raise an eyelid, and he was heavily tempted to succumb to darkness for some more. After gathering enough strength for a second try, he at least managed to squint. What he saw were blurry lines of a dark silhouette standing at the end of a bed.

“You’re an idiot.”  
The voice sounded flat and exhausted. Tony shifted within the hospital bed and groaned.  
“First of all, I know. Second of all, rude.”  
  
“I had it under control, why did you have to intervene?!”  
As soon as Tony had opened both eyes, he was met with a sharp, stinging pain. It added fuel to his ire.  
“Cause they would've blasted your damn head off otherwise, okay?”

Wayne's already thin lips vanished as he pressed them together and stared at the ground. “They've removed the bullet. You were lucky it missed the scapula and left no vascular damage, but you'll have to take it easy for the next three weeks. At least.” Tony let his head drop back into the pillow. “Fuck.”  
  
“Be glad it's nothing serious. I'll see you around.”  
“Wait! Wayne!”  
The door closed behind the other man with a soft click.

* * *

After being released from the hospital six days later, Tony was ordered for a two-week bed rest at home.

He spent the first days drinking from the faucet; unable to open a bottle. Rhodey called him every day, sounding worried. Pepper brought him groceries on her way from work. There was, however, no sign of Bruce Wayne. Until he showed up at Tony's doorstep unannounced on day eight, complaining about the traffic, the snobby neighborhood, and the general lack of signposts around Point Dume.

Tony opened him in sweatpants and a gray shirt that read "Actually it is rocket science" with the NASA Logo printed below. His arm was in a sling, and there was a weariness in his stance that soon switched to honest delight. “Look who's here. Come in but don' look too closely.” Gesturing into the living room with his good arm, Tony followed his guest, kicking strewn magazines under the couch in passing.

Bruce inspected the untidy loft with a wry tug around the mouth. Even if Stark managed to clear a spot on the couch for him to sit, he preferred to stand. “So what'cha been up to, B?” Tony plopped down on his sofa with a grunt. “Working. Looking into some of the info we got from that safe.” Stark squinted up at him with difficulty. “None of that made it into our possession that night.”  
  
Wayne shrugged.  
“I looked at it. That's enough.”  
That got Tony to blink several times, perplexed.  
  
“Photographic memory?”  
Another shrug.  
“Maybe.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tony reached behind the couch's armrest with his good hand and produced an almost empty bottle of liquor. Wayne's eyes narrowed. “Don't tell me you've been drinking that.” Stark huffed. “I won't tell ya I've been drinking that.” He took another, long swig and stared dully ahead. “Y'know t'was my fault Rhodey's got into that fuckin' chair, don't'cha?”  
  
Bruce's countenance remained impassive, but he crossed his arms over his chest. “I've read the reports. It wasn't.” Tony's laugh was mirthless, almost aggressive. “The fuck t'was. Two seconds. Two fuckin' seconds in which I didn't pay attention.” His eyes, glassy and red-rimmed, then found those of his partner. “It's never gon' happen again, but it won' bring Rhodey's legs back, and that kills me. Every damn day.”

A heavy silence settled in between them. When Stark remained unresponsive, Bruce moved over and took the bottle from his hand. His movements got Tony to stir and wince as he forgot about his medical condition and moved his arm. “Gimme tha... ouch! Am I dead yet?” Bruce strong grip hoisted him up. “No, but you’re going to wish you were. Tomorrow.” Tony gave a noncommittal sounding grunt.

“Quit'cha fussin, I don' wan' your help.” He tried to push him away and made a sloppy, dismissive gesture. His clumsy effort at standing up straight was met with a lurch forward, right into Wayne's waiting arms. “Yes, you do look like you really don't need it, piss-ass drunk as you are.” Stark snarled against his chest and made a rather pathetic attempt at punching him with a fist.  
  
“Shuddup, you fucker.”  
  
They stumbled and inched their way upstairs into what Bruce hoped was Tony's bedroom.  
“I wonder what's so unclear about not mixing meds and alcohol, but to each his own.”  
The shorter man tripped over his own feet, nearly dragging them both down to the floor.  
  
“Yeah, Wayne, 's a good thing you're such a fuckin' saint. F'reals. Mebbe that's why I....”

“That's why you what?”

“... nuthin.”

“Maybe that's why you called me a fucker you mean.”

Tony grabbed a handful of his collar, and all of Bruce's trained instincts wanted to spring into fight mode. Instead he willed himself to stay calm and meet Stark's bloodshot eyes. “'m attracted t'those, y'know? Assholes with'a good personal'ty. 'n when they're hot, too.... huh. What'am I s'pposed t'do.” Taken aback, Bruce remained silent. After he had scooted onto the bedside, Tony waved into his general direction.

“You just gon' forget I said dat, 'kay? Go hom'. Just roll me onto m'side first if I puke.”  
He buried his face within the crook of his good arm and graced his company with his backside.  
Wayne's steps shuffled some more in the semi-dark, until they left the room, its door slightly ajar.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Tony woke with a head the size of Newfoundland. Memories of the prior night were elusive and hazy, so he decided not to dwell upon them for the moment. His pain-filled moans eventuality led to some commotion at the door to his bedroom. A rumpled looking Bruce Wayne had apparently stayed the night and, from the looks of it, also slept in his clothes.

“You okay?”  
Tony grunted as he massaged his temples.  
“That is a _loaded_ question.”

The other man walked over to reach for the window behind the curtain to open it. Tony complained with another wailing moan as daylight hit his face. “What happened? Why me? Everything hurts. Fuck, I'm gettin' too old for this shit.” He buried himself back under the covers, therefore missing out on Bruce's smirk that was small but diabolic. “When are you done moping around?” A rustle and the cover slung back.

Tony's bedhead appeared, glowering at his still present guest. “Gimme a few more minutes to wallow in self-pity, and then I'll be right with ya.” The other man indeed turned and left, only to call back at him from the corridor. “Where do you have the coffee in this mess you call kitchen?” Tony scratched his nape. “Second cupboard to the left.” He listened to footsteps on tiled floors. “Hey, feel free to.. take a shower or somethin.”

No answer, but the rattle of drawers being opened and water running from the faucet echoed through the open door. Another few minutes later, the telltale smell of caffeine wafted through the air. Tony slouched downstairs and plopped down in the chair with a grunt. A steaming cup stood waiting, and he grasped it with a sigh. “Bless you, honey, this is a lifesaver.” At that, Wayne neither commented nor looked at him.

Instead, he walked out of the kitchen just as Tony took a first slurp. Seconds later, the guest bathroom door opened, closed, and locked. Water started to run into the sink, and Tony stopped straining to listen. Once Bruce reappeared, his hair was damp and finger-combed back, and he was surrounded by a faint whiff of mouthwash. He positioned himself opposite of his partner and watched him nurse his coffee.

When Tony gestured between the kettle and Bruce, the latter shook his head. “Turns out they are smuggling drugs and money over the Mexican border from Imperial Beach to Tijuana. Their drag races are merely a reason to test out potential drug runners' cars and abilities.” Tony looked up at his recap that came completely out of the blue, but was quick to put two and two together.

“So the whole drag racing stunt's a sham.”   
Bruce nodded.   
“Precisely.”   
  
Stark sipped from his mug and stared at something indefinite. Eventually, he put the cup down and pointed at his partner. “Means they send their 'heat' vehicles,” He made air quotes with his index fingers. “Screaming down the highway to deliberately get pulled over for speeding, so that those with the drugs get to creep on by without prob. And get a little extra kick in racing, too.”

At Tony's voiced conclusion, Wayne took his time until he spoke. “In any case, there's a bigger fish behind it.” Tony nodded. “All the have to is let us make a border run at some point. Then we got them.” Now it was Bruce's turn to look at something in the distance. “They are not going to trust us again so easily. After we got busted by the cops, they'll either think we're feds, or we've sung.”

Both men mulled over the possibility until Wayne pushed himself off the counter he had leaned against. “Which means we've got to try something else.” Heading for the door, Bruce took his jacket from the coat rack in one fluent motion. Despite his headache, Tony whipped his head around to follow his stride. “What do you mean?” Wayne gave a glimpse over his shoulder.

“I'll come back here in a week.”   
Door knob in his hand, he then made sure to meet and hold his partner's gaze.   
“You better be stone-cold sober by then.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

Meeting the gang again after the raid was not as nerve-racking as Tony and Bruce might have suspected. The guys believed the story Tony told about his injury, their narrow escape, and the following weeks of laying low because of it. Wheels nodded along, dark look in his eyes, and spit on the ground. “Fuckin feds. Confiscated the clubhouse, too, so we're looking for a new hideout and... supplies.”

They were hanging out on a large parking lot of a Dunkin Donuts in L.A. The place was sparsely populated at 11:20 PM, a little before closing times. Wheels then put up a shrewd grin and looked at Tony. “How bout it, Easy J? Think you're up for a ride?” Tony did not bother to check but he was near positive Bruce was gloating behind that damn bored and stoic facade of his.  
  
Wayne's little plan seemed to fall into place without too much effort. He had indeed shown up at Tony's UC place a week later, sniffing around for any possible alcohol odors. Upon finding none, he had thrust a thick envelope into his partner's hand. “Marked bills, three grand. They need to fall in the right hands.” There and then, Stark put up a very cocksure grin and scratched the side of his bearded cheek.  
  
“I always am, fella. So which one of you wants to come at me?”  
His eyes flew over to D-Dog, but the youngster gave him the evil eye and nodded over at Loco.  
“Ferrari boy then. Alright homie, show off that Italian stallion of yours.”

When Tony reached up into his jacket, it did not fail to do the trick as needy eyes followed his every move, so he went for his pocket. His fingers also brushed against the small bandage under his hooded sweater before reaching for the item in question. "Let's lock in half of this” Tony thumbed through a rolled-up bundle of cash. “But only for a full gap out. Winner's gotta outrun the other by at least two car lengths.”  
  
At the prospect of winning $1500, Loco did not need any more persuasion. After arranging a meeting point, the gang piled into their respective rides and headed out first. “You know you have to lose.” An indignant look out of dark-brown eyes. “Course.” Bruce smirked. “Didn't think your ego could handle it.” He sounded uncharacteristically amused. Tony curled his lips. “You live, you learn.”

He ignited the R8 and brought it out on the streets of downtown Los Angeles, heading for a secured part of the highway. They put up a good show, but Tony had to admit that his reflexes and reactions were still hampered by surgery. In the end, he lost the first race by a good three car lengths, demanded another one which he also lost, and handed the money over with a truly peeved look.

No sooner than the gang members had offed into the night, victorious and smart-mouthed like never before, Stark sat behind the wheel and tapped his fingers against the leather. “So now that we've trashed my rep and my ego, what's next on your agenda?” Wayne's jaw worked before he spoke. “We wait.”

“Mhm.”  
  
Bruce then made a point in looking at his watch, to which Tony set the supercar in motion and dropped him off at his designated UC apartment. They parted ways in a haphazard fashion, with Tony giving a lackadaisical wave and Bruce grunting back at him in response.

* * *

Two days later, an aggressive roar got Tony to glimpse through the blinds left and right of the main door.

Outside his mansion stood a mean looking black Kawasaki Ninja bike with neon green finishing. The fact that no one else but a smug looking Bruce Wayne was straddling it got Tony to open the door and walk out. He said nothing at first and only rounded the machine with a very guarded expression. “Please tell me this is safe.” Without looking at him, Wayne slipped on the helmet he balanced in between his thighs.  
  
“This is safe.”  
Stark snorted but snatched the second helmet resting on the pillion seat.  
“Please tell me this is safe without lying.”  
  
Bruce looked at him with mild amusement and annoyance in equal shares.  
“You’re really demanding, you know that?”  
He removed the kickstand with a swift move of his foot and turned the ignition.  
  
“Get your ass up and hold on tight. We have a lead.”

Supervising the gang from afar had not been Tony's favorite idea to begin with, leaving him to grumble on inside his helmet. That was until Bruce's smooth voice resounded in his ear and made him wince in surprise. “These are Bluetooth intercom headsets, so watch your mouth back there for once.”  
  
Speeding up the highway, they headed out for San Diego.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The motorbike in question  
> http://images.motorcycle-usa.com/PhotoGallerys/2010-Kawasaki-ZX6R-stage-2.jpg


	16. Chapter 16

“A deposit's been made in Encinitas. An ATM captured and screened some of the marked bill numbers.”  
  
The second time Wayne ever spoke voluntarily over the headset happened when they were rolling through a rather posh looking neighborhood. Tony had been playing twenty question for the longest, monosyllabic time with him and was glad for some additional information. “None of the guys live here.” The dark helmet in front of him nodded. Bruce checked the data on his mobile while they were waiting at a red light.  
  
“According to Gordon, there are not that many suspects in this area. Gonzales fits the bill.”  
  
Carlos Neron Gonzales was a well-known drug lord who had been managing to escape authorities for many years. Stark and Wayne decided to check out his property; an estate which lay in a secluded part of town, hidden behind a tall, white wall. They did a few rounds around the streets before a huge dark Escalade arrived at the gates. Bruce performed a tight u-turn at a junction and brought them closer to the scene.  
  
Two males got out, conversing with the driver. “Try and take pictures.” Tony reinforced his grip around Bruce's waist one-handed and grunted into the helmet. “Already on it.” Even if Bruce held the bike as steady as possible, Tony soon switched to video mode instead, holding the small mobile device close to his hip in what he hoped was an inconspicuous way into the direction of the three men.  
  
“Which one of them is Gonzales?” Wayne breathed audibly over the headset. “Hard to tell.” Just then, the men exchanged what looked to be papers and small plastic bags. When two of them cast curious glances their way, Bruce re-applied throttle and sent the machine speeding down the road. Tony all but yelped and clung to him, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “Warn a guy, will ya.”  
  
The Kawasaki veered to the right, the Gothamite gave a noncommittal harrumph, and Tony pulled a face even though it went unseen. He then fell uncommonly quiet, watching the ocean on his left instead of staring at the broad, leather-clad back. When the highway stretched out empty in front of them, he decided to voice the thought in his head. “Okay, do it. I know you want to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Crank this baby up some, Wayne. I can handle it.”

“You'll regret this.”

“Hardly. I'm almost falling asleep over here as it is.”

An evil smirk spread out behind Bruce's visor.

“If you say so.”

Tony felt him flatten his body against the bike and involuntarily held on tighter as Wayne opened throttle. The Ninja surged forward with a scream, and Stark felt an intense adrenaline rush blazing through his whole body. Only after he had released a very vocal stream of expletives over the headset, Bruce relented.

“Fast enough for you?”

“Fuckin fuck, what was that? 90?”

“Make that 120.”

“Fuck...!” It was said in complete and utter awe. “… that's almost better than sex.” Both of them chuckled inside their helmets. Bruce then felt Tony tap his midriff, just before his voice rustled inside his helmet. “I'm hungry. In the mood for some coffee and sandwiches? Tab's on me.” Wayne nodded once and accelerated slightly to get in the outside lane and towards the next exit.

* * *

They stopped at the first Starbucks they found. While Bruce secured his bike and their helmets, Tony went off to place their orders. After he had returned with a tray filled with two cups and two plates, Tony slipped out of his jacket and revealed a geeky t-shirt. Wayne stared at the atomic properties of Germanium, Nickel, Uranium, and Sulfur for the longest time. Then he snorted.  
  
“Cute.”  
The dry remark caused Tony to shrug.  
“No, I really am. A genius I mean. It's only applicable periodically to my life, though.”  
  
Stark looked at the Kawasaki and blew out his cheeks. “But who’d'a known Square Boat McWayne is able to ride a bike.” A frown in between bites, then Bruce looked up. “Square Boat?” Tony waved him off, looking truly abashed for the first time in their brief working history. “That's what the guys from... ah, never mind.” He busied himself checking the video on his phone and confirmed his suspicion. It was a blurred mess.

Wayne's nimble fingers plucked away a string of aluminum foil from his sandwich and rolled it into a tight little ball. His brows were furrowed, even if his face remained blank. “I know what they say. I don't care in the least.” Tony stowed his phone and reached out for his coffee. As he took a sip, his eyes roamed around Bruce's face before Tony broke into a crooked grin.  
  
“Hmm, well, I'd be down for a second opinion. Tell me a bit about yourself.” He thought he could almost hear the barricades slamming shut behind Bruce's stoic facade when the latter blinked and looked away. "What do you want to know?” The question was low in volume but had the desired effect. Quick to cover up his surprise with an elaborate gesture, Stark assumed a casual pose and toyed with the plastic cup of his beverage.  
  
“Ah, I dunno. Not the boring, usual CV stuff in any case, cause I've read that already. Age 29, single, never married, from Gotham City -my sympathies by the way- no relatives. Joined the Army after dropping out of Princeton, only to end up at Quantico and get nothing but excellent grades and scores.” Bruce said nothing at first, munching on his sandwich while staring him down. Tony then leaned in.  
  
“C'mon, don't look so peeved, I know you've read mine, too - it's what everybody does when they get new partners assigned. No, I'm more into the stuff that's off the books, so to speak. The real juicy stuff.” He slurped around the straw of his Frappuccino, making funny noises. Bruce fought hard to keep a straight face. He busied himself scraping a clipped thumbnail over the logo of his cup. “The Clash. I like their music.”  
  
Tony stopped suckling on the remains of his iced drink. “Huh. Didn't see that one coming.” Wayne threw him a look that seemed to say 'no kidding'. Stark then cocked his head. “Still, as interesting as it is, that's not really juicy.” A little plop, then the lid of Bruce's skinny latte came off. He sloshed the remains inside around a few times before gulping them down in one fast motion.

“I once left someone chained to the bed with a pair of handcuffs.”  
Tony's eyebrows shot up just as his mouth formed a surprised O.  
“ _Now_ we're talking, sugar.”

Snatching the also empty plastic cup from Tony's hands, Bruce stood up.  
"Here's where our conversation ends.”  
His grin was sarcastic as he moved over to a nearby trashcan to dispose of the items.

"Let's get going.”  
  
Tony also got to his feet and followed him over to where the superbike waited for them at the curb. “ Now I wonder even more why your file says single.” A raised eyebrow. “Pot calling kettle black.” A suffering sigh. “For sure. I might be inclined to take up advertising in the Lonely Hearts section sometime soon.” Bruce handed him his helmet but drew back just when Tony attempted to grab it.  
  
“What would it say?”

“Huh?”

“Your Lonely Hearts ad.”

Stark put an index finger to his lips and squinted up into the sky. “For Sale: 1 soul, stained; 1 mind, dirty; and 1 conscience, never used.” Wayne shook his head. “But where is the lie.” Shocked at his cheeky if deadpan reply, Tony broke into a real grin and, out of instinct, bumped Bruce's shoulder. “Too bad your wry sense of humor always gets cockblocked by that grim, stoic focus. Otherwise, you'd actually be hilarious at parties.”

Bruce's eyes twinkled with something Tony was unable to identify. “How would you know I'm not hilarious at parties?” Tony figured he was interpreting way too much of a flirtatious undertone, so he simply grinned some more and shrugged. “The only thing I take at face value is charming without being flamboyant. I may see that with you. On a good day. And on amphetamines. Anything else? Please enlighten me.”

Wayne straddled the machine in one effortless motion and cast him a mock-seductive look. “Don't push your luck.” Stark had to swallow but was quick to catch the helmet thrown his way. “Hey, what's that?” With two fingers, Tony grabbed a ticket off the windshield and held it up with a smug expression. “You just got served, Chuckles. How's that for pushing luck?” Wayne snatched it from his hand and stuffed it into his jacket.  
  
“Whatever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's shirt found here: http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/ea07/
> 
> I don't know whether Bruce Wayne actually listens to The Clash, but I fell in love with this marvelous art, and...  
> http://nanihoosartblog.tumblr.com/post/149396033012/rock-n-roll-billionaire-boys-i-had-bruce-and-tony
> 
> ... headcanon accepted :)


	17. Chapter 17

It was a nice, sunny afternoon when Tony pushed his best friend's wheelchair over the mowed lawns of the rehabilitation facility. “... and you know, I've never met someone who could void himself of his own personality like that. Really. He's damn good.” When he paused for breath, James chuckled. “Oh, Tones, Tones, Tones. Listen to yourself. It's better if you stop doing that right now.”

“Stop doing what?”

“Giving me this wistful expression. This doe-eyed look. This enamored talk.” When Tony said nothing and only looked at his best friend in a flabbergasted stupor, James clicked his tongue. “You are about to have your heart broken by falling in love with your co-worker. Again.”

“I'm not falling in love, platypus, c'mon now! That's bull!”

“Really?”

“All I'm saying is that Bruce is a good partner, is that illegal?

“No, please continue.”

“He's...”

“Yes?”

“I mean...”

“I'm listening, Tones.”

“... ah, fuck! He's hot and I wanna kiss that goddamn sexy-angry frown off his mouth, okay?!”

“That's what I thought.”

They stopped at a nearby idle pond filled with sea lilies. Tony crossed his arms and drew up a pout.

“Man, you and your interrogation techniques suck balls.”  
His best friend squinted up at him.  
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how far in over your head are you?”

“... it stops at 10?”  
James shook his head in fond exasperation.  
“Remember last time I had to pick up the pieces? God, that breakup almost killed you.”  
  
Tony kept his gaze out on the pond as a little wistful smirk tugged at his mouth.  
“But look at us now, behaving like adults and whatnot.”  
“That's because Steve has been transferred into another unit last year!”

“So what? We're cool now. Really, we are. Mind you, I still think he's got the short end of the stick with Barnes, but whatever. No, but this - this is nothing like it. Even if it isn't _any_ thing at this point.” He sounded a little petulant towards the end, so James decided not to press further. “Did Wayne ever indicate he's...” He made a vague, wobbling motion of his hand. Tony shrugged, remembering the Hispanic girl Leticia.

“No, I mean... umm... I really have no idea. He's like the Saturday Times' crossword puzzle on two legs.”

James hummed. “In any case, he seems like a guy who wouldn't want to mix business and personal matters.” Stark snorted. “He's a guy who doesn't _have_ a lot of personal matters to begin with if you ask me. No parents, orphaned since he was eighteen – no known living relatives whatsoever. Former Ranger, too, which maybe explains his infuriating, hardass attitude. In short: The poster boy for commitment issues.”

Rhodey palmed his forehead and regarded a nurse walking by in the distance. “Real nice catch there, man. And a couple of weeks ago you told me he's worse than the Grim Reaper. You've just turned 35 this year, when will you ever learn.” Tony made a booing sound. “So what? I easily pass for 32. Age isn't a factor, especially when Wayne usually behaves like he's pushing 60.”

“So what's the deal with your sudden change of heart then?”

“We went out to lunch together and talked about... non-homeland security stuff. It was nice not to lurk in shadows and speak in code words for once. Although... Bruce seems really into that lurking in the shadows thing.” Rhodes shook his head in silent laughter and motioned for Tony to get them back inside.

* * *

The news hit a few days later. Someone from the gang had been caught drug dealing on the streets of LA. Tony and Bruce were at the Bureau in less than thirty minutes, to listen in on the interrogation. They flashed their badges as they passed through various departments and security checkpoints in a fast-paced lockstep, already sporting their UC outfits for their upcoming night on town later on.

Tony wore a shiny suit in anthracite with a dark blue shirt, some high-top sneakers in black and white and a pair of tinted glasses. Bruce was decked out in casual denim, a hooded sweater jacket over a white shirt, some nondescript sneakers and a black baseball hat. Many curious glances from fellow co-workers were thrown their way, most colleagues not recognizing either agent at first sight.

“Not even two weeks and they can't keep their fingers out of the honey pot. My bet is on Needles. Dude's on the scrounge for a new ride.” Wayne gave an affirmative nod. “He'd be doing anything for a fix, too.” The door to the interrogation area opened with a deep buzz as the metal screeched open. It fell shut with a heavy clank behind them, and one look through the one-way mirror into the small chamber behind proved them right.

Under the harsh neon lights, two officers were cornering a skinny male in his twenties. A handcuffed Needles looked like the picture of misery, glimpsing around in frenzy. “He's either scared for his life or tripping out.” Tony pressed a button on the panel in front and they listened in on the scene for a while. After sharing a knowing look with his partner, Wayne gave with a morose curl of the lip.

"In any case, he's not actually answering questions." Stark chuckled. "No, he just says all the words he knows in no particular order." From where Bruce stood and leaned against the mirror with his arms crossed, a small laugh escaped his lips. Tony's gaze flew up at his face, startled. Then he broke into a wide grin. "Hallelujah! I made you laugh. Everybody stop what you're doing! Bruce Wayne actually just cracked a real smile!"  
  
In an instant, the other man grimaced.  
"I just cleared my throat."  
Tony squinted at him with a knowing smirk.

"Suuuuure."

* * *

In the end, Needles gave some information that seemed worth looking into to Tony and Bruce, before he got jailed for an indefinite period of time. Once the two special agents were about to leave the Bureau, they ran into Pepper Potts. Dressed in a black business suit and high heels, she all but blocked their path. “Tony! I've been trying to reach you for the past two hours!” She waved her phone in his face.

“I need you to sign for the latest modifications to the Audi. You've never filled out the forms I emailed you. It's been almost two months now.”

Bruce fell back and watched how Tony sneaked an arm around the taller woman's waist. “Ah now, sweetheart, I am a busy man these days. With all this street racing, getting shot at, being a bad mofo and intercepting drug runners, I hardly have time to take a breather, let alone deal with pitiful paperwork.” Pepper's eyebrow rose. “Poor you.” Her sarcastic retort made Stark chuckle to himself.

“I know. Let me make it up to you with a nice dinner. These fancy clothes get you the best tables in town.” She proceeded to look him up and down, trying to keep a stern expression. “You think that would cover all the trouble and time I've invested in chasing after you?” He returned her once-over and pointed at her stilettos. “I'll add a fantastic foot massage afterward.” Potts' glossy lips curved into a smile.

“Sold.”  
  
Tony cast a brief look over his shoulder, remembering the quiet, sulking shadow that was his partner. “Looks like I got a date. Pick you up later, Chazzman.” A dismissive wave goodbye, then Bruce was on his own. He drew the hat deeper into his eyes and turned on his heel to walk into the opposite direction.

 


	18. Chapter 18

There was one thing Wayne hated more than being dismissed, which was being picked up. He, therefore, made a point in coming round to Tony's UC place way before their usual time. As he parked the Kawasaki in front of the mansion, Bruce half expected to encounter company by the name of Potts. There was, however, no car in the driveway. In fact, the huge villa lay empty and dark, except for loud music blaring out.  
  
Bruce discovered its source was the basement garage. He walked down the concrete circular driveway until he encountered a see-through roll up grid that was locked. Behind it, their Audi R8 throned in the middle, its engine cover up. Over the designer sound system of the car, the familiar tunes of 'I fought the Law' by The Clash reverberated through the night, and Bruce frowned.

Stark was nowhere in sight until Bruce peeked in to take a closer look. The only thing he saw was the lower part of Stark, who was leaning square across the engine block, working. For a while, there was nothing left to do for Wayne but to watch Stark's ample backside dressed in faded jeans move about until the music faded out. Bruce took his chance and rapped at the gate.  
  
Tony's head shot up, missing the open cover by an inch. He was dressed in a tight white wifebeater streaked with motor grease. Surprise soon changed into a smile that lit up Tony's whole face upon seeing who his visitor was. “Oh, hi! You're already... Wait a sec.” He moved and pressed a button to which the grid unlocked and Bruce could enter. Wayne glimpsed from a small tattoo on Tony's defined upper arm to the car's engine.

“Trouble?”  
Stark grabbed a rag from a workbench and wiped his fingers before he rubbed his nape.  
“Something's wrong with our baby. Must've been all the NOS. It's not sitting well with her.”

“Her?”

“Female name, y'know, like with ships. Cars, too, need to be tended and coddled with a gentle hand.”

“Chauvinistic.”

“Pshhh. What do you want me to name my car? _Bruce_?”

“Sure don't, and it's not your car.”

“Oh, it'd be a bitchy mofo for sure, I can already tell.”

“Who could blame it.”

“Gee, you really got your little Miss Sunshine attitude on point today.”  
Irritable for no apparent reason all of a sudden, Bruce took a cautious seat on a well-worn leather couch.  
“Hurry up and get dressed. We're going to take the bike tonight anyhow.”

Stark walked towards the set of stairs leading up into the mansion. He pulled off his wifebeater mid-stride and threw it over his shoulder, together with a look at the other man. “Gotta take a shower first.” Bruce averted his eyes as the semi-naked silhouette disappeared from view and glared at the R8 again.

“No one names their car. Idiotic.”

* * *

Showered, shaved, and smelling like a cologne factory, Tony slipped onto the Kawasaki twenty minutes later.

“Fuck, there goes my hair.”  
He still accepted the helmet Bruce held up in the air without looking back at him.  
“Time to find out if their dead drop is exactly where Needles said it's supposed to be.”  
  
Tony peeked left and right as they stopped at the junction of Birdview Avenue and Cliffside Drive.  
“The piss parlor, like in 99 % of the movies. Those millennials are even worse than their rep.”  
Wayne revved the engine of the bike and turned right, heading for downtown Los Angeles.

Miguel Sanchez aka Needles had told the FBI about an impending drug deal. Stark and Wayne's plan of action was to find out more about the circle it was supposed to go into, depending on whom they were about to encounter at the designated drop zone. Equipped with an extra bright LED flashlight and a semi-automatic hidden in Bruce's jacket, they circled the area in question for a good ten minutes, spotting no one. 

The rundown public restroom was situated in a sparsely populated area of town. Bruce and Tony waited at a safe distance across the street. A little after 1 AM, there was movement. From their vantage point, they saw a lone figure getting out of an old, beige Mazda with its headlights switched off. Once the male silhouette was inside, both agents pulled off their helmets. "New face candyman. Shitty car, too." Wayne nodded.

“He's looking to score.”  
Bruce's expression turned into fierce determination as he handed Stark the flashlight.  
Tony checked his hair in the rear-view mirror one last time before slipping on a pair of tinted glasses.  
  
“So are we.”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tony uses a rather derogative term in this chapter, but only due to his UC persona)

The drug runner could not have been older than 20 and looked to be of Filipino descent. From the moment the flashlight hit him square in the eyes and blinded him, it did not take long until Tony had knocked him over and wedged into the small confines of the restroom, between toilet bowl and wall. The boy yelped out as Stark knelt on his back and patted him down until he had confiscated a 5'' butterfly knife with steel handles.

With a final shove to his backside, Tony rose and stepped back. “Hands on your head. Keep 'em up, sonny, don't wanna lose a finger or two.” The boy spat a few words in a foreign language at him, to which Tony's grin just turned more feral. “What a nice little toothpick you got here.” He began to flick the sharp knife open and turned and twisted it around in a fast pace, all the while keeping eye contact with the youngster.

At the surprising display of dexterity, the Filipino's eyes narrowed and he snapped his mouth shut. Tony reached out and picked up a brick-sized parcel filled with a powdery white substance. He bounced the package around in his hand while his lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “Tell me whom you wanted to deliver this sweet nose candy to.” The boy spit into his direction, barely missing Tony's sneakers. Stark tutted.

“Ah, ah, ah. I try so hard to be a good person, and then someone like you comes along just begging to be murdered.”  
  
Footsteps announced another presence as Bruce sauntered around the corner, all assertive and snarling. His eyes were hidden below his baseball hat and hoodie, mouth twisted in a snarl. “Fuck this, J. What's taking you so long?” Tony shrugged with faux regret, still wielding the knife. “Don’t judge me. The Flip here is trying to play tough.” In a fast move, Bruce had pulled the Heckler & Koch from his pocket.

“I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet.” His voice had lowered into a raspy growl as he held the gun in a side grip and pointed it at the youngster in the corner. Frightened, bulging eyes darted from one glowering man to the other. Tony then pretended to be the voice of reason by putting a hand on Wayne's arm and lowered it to the ground. When he focused back on the twen, Stark bared his teeth at him.

“Look pal, I'm havin a good day. We let ya live in exchange for this here.” He wiggled the parcel in front of the young drug runner's nose and was met with no resistance, especially since Wayne was toying openly with the safety switch of his gun. Tony put one foot up on the toilet seat and dropped the butterfly knife into the bowl. It disappeared within the dirty water with a dull splash.  
  
“You go and tell your boss that there's someone new in town who's ready to wipe his ass off the streets.”

* * *

“Now what to do with two ounces of happy dust?”

Tony's voice had a sing-song quality to it as he threw the bag with the white powder from one hand to the other and grinned. “This is worth what? Three grand?” Uninterested hazel eyes flickered into his direction. “Put it away, don't tear the bag.” Stark grimaced at him but slipped it into his jacket to cushion his stomach area. “Yes, mom.” Bruce set the Kawasaki into motion and headed back for downtown LA.

“Do you think it was wise to threaten him?”  
They were communicating via headsets again, speeding through the night. A deep baritone chuckle.  
“That little punk ass bitch? I think he even wet himself, so what harm does it do.”

As Bruce came to a stop at a traffic light and put his feet on the ground, he frowned at something in the rear view mirror. “You might find out sooner than later.” His eyes darted left and right of the junction, gauging the sparse traffic. Two cars stood on each side, parking lights on. Behind him, Tony shifted and tried to glimpse around his form. “... huh?” A window of a black Lincoln rolled down, and Bruce's eyes narrowed.  
  
“Hold on tight.”

They floored it despite it being a red light; right before bullets riddled the asphalt where they had stood seconds ago.

The wild goose chase that erupted involved at least four cars; all black with tinted windows and big grills. Bruce ducked and weaved through the traffic at such high velocity that Tony tightened his grip even more, almost drilling finger-sized holes into the other man's jacket. The Kawasaki Ninja screamed into their ears as Wayne shifted gears on main street and headed straight for the less populated harbor area.

Everything flew by in a blur, and Tony risked at glimpse back to see about their followers. His hectic, jerking motions caused Bruce to lose control of the bike on slippery asphalt, and before they knew it they were skidding sideways right into the docks where they hit the water with a mighty splash. Spitting out a mouthful of dirty harbor water, Tony's head soon reappeared next to Bruce's, both treading water.

Primary instincts kicked in and they ungracefully paddled over to climb out of the basin. As they lay on their backs, looking like two wet dogs, coughing and gathering their bearings, Bruce eventually turned over onto his stomach and robbed forward to glimpse over the edge of the dock into the dark, swirling water. Nothing but a few bubbles and gurgles indicated the whereabouts of the Kawasaki.  
  
Tony joined him at the rim and cast him a sideways glance. “We just lost crack worth three grand, and you're worried about that fucking bike?!” Eyes trained on the bubbles rising from the water, Bruce scrunched up his face. “That fucking bike came in at fifteen grand, alright!?” They glared at each other. "You know that little voice inside your head that tells you not to do the thing? Listen to it next time."  
  
Before Tony had an answer to Wayne's accusatory tone, engines roared and tires screeched.  
Then there was the clicking, all too familiar sound of several guns being unlocked.  
“Freeze, assholes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motorbike chase inspired by this:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOH1gn0BaKI
> 
> To get an idea about what Tony is doing with the knife, it's supposed to look like in this vid:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwLMRBLx3r8


	20. Chapter 20

“You fuckers are trying to get into my business?”

Up close, Carlos Neron Gonzales was an intimidating man; not in height, but in the way he held himself. He smelled of expensive soap and tobacco, and his many gold chains and rings flashed in the artificial light of the storage room. Bruce and Tony had been hauled into it half an hour earlier, forced to wait at gunpoint until the drug lord arrived in another dark limousine.

Puddles of water from their sodden bodies were pooling at their feet, both shivering in their wet clothes. Stark tried to put up a smile, despite facing the muzzle of an FN-57 pistol. “Hey, now, muchacho. Killing the two of us just makes your lawyer's job so much harder.” At that, the drug lord pistol whipped Tony square across the face without warning. Bruce watched in silent horror how he went down with a sickening thud.

“Shut your fuckin mouth, dickhead.” Impassive on the outside, Wayne inwardly released a breath when Tony started to move after a few heartbeats. He unsteadily got to his knees before two big brutes hoisted him up and held him in their middle. Mouth a crimson, blubbering mess, Tony tried to make amends and a different technique. “We're friends of Wheels' crew. They said we could make a li'l money along the way.”

Now Gonzales' gun found its way right upon his temple.  
“You need to shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.”  
“... We've got money and a ride worth $150,000.”  
  
Bruce's sudden, quiet voice caused all eyes to rest on him. Gonzales squinted at him like a snake. Eventually, he locked his semi-automatic again and took it away from Tony's head. “What kind of ride?” Wayne kept his gaze on him and not on the confused, bloodied countenance of his partner.“Customized supercar. Little over 200 mph.” He blinked several times when water from his dripping bangs ran into his eyes.

The drug lord pondered his words, spoke a few words in Spanish with his men. Then he eyed Bruce with a shark-like expression. "I could kill you for screwing up a good deal, but I got a better idea.” He pointed his weapon at him. “You race. Across the border. Avoid getting busted to save your life and his.”

“What?!” At Tony's incredulity, Gonzales cocked the hammer of his gun again, aiming at Stark's head. “This little fucker stays here to make sure you're not doing something foolish. If you don't make it, he'll die.” Wayne swallowed. “What if I make it?” Gonzales stepped closer and exposed a row of gold teeth. “If you make it, he'll live, but I'll take your ride.” Bruce's eyes flickered over to where Tony stood.

“That's no real incentive for me.” Out of the blue, Gonzales drew his arm back and slugged him hard with the back of his gold ring-laden hand. Ears ringing, Bruce went with the force from the impact but remained on his feet. “Imperial Beach, tomorrow at midnight. Pray I don't change my mind over the next few hours, bastard.”

* * *

“I need a car.”

When Agent Wayne sat in Gordon's office later that day, he sported a bloodied, purple shiner near his left eye and a sour, tense look. His superior negated with a stern look. “The infiltration went awry, Agent Stark is being held captive. You need back up, period.” Flat out refusal flashed back at him. “No, if they get wind of that, Tony's as good as dead. I'm going back in alone.”

“Wayne, are you nuts?”

“Give me a car. Fast one at that.”

Gordon looked like he wanted to argue. Bruce Wayne got to his feet, leaned over the table and pointed a finger at him. “Goddammit, Jim, he's my partner – I got him into trouble, and I'm going to get him out! What was all that fuck you told me about loyalty?” Instead of admonishing him, Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, long and hard. The wrinkles in his skin stayed, even after he removed his fingers.  
  
“Go see Fox and Potts.”

* * *

“Lamborghini Aventador V12, modified engine. Arymtrix titanium quad-exit exhaust system, AirRex air suspension.”

Bruce walked around the vehicle in brushed steel with some orange trimming, hands on his hips. “How fast?” Fox cocked his head. “220 mph. From 0–60 mph in just 2.6 seconds. Revised valve timing, new, lighter exhaust, and upgraded NOS intake system. Take my advice - don't tank this one.” Wayne's smile was grim as he held his palm open for Fox to drop the car keys into it.

“Not planning to.”

Pepper walked him out, worry etched on her features upon seeing his black eye. “How is Tony? Is he hurt?” Bruce tried to make his voice sound at least a bit optimistic. “They aren't pampering him, but he'll be okay.” Potts' expression stayed the same. “You be careful, Bruce, okay?” He nodded, dead serious.

“I'll bring him back home.”

The Aventador was like a powder keg on four wheels and needed some time to get used to. It bucked and screamed even at moderate velocity. After having adjusted the air suspension kit to ensure he would not be scraping along the highway, Bruce headed out towards Imperial Beach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aventador mentioned in this chapter looks and sounds like this:  
> http://www.motorward.com/2015/06/cec-wide-body-aventador-looks-dope-in-brushed-steel/  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1h6C__G5W0


	21. Chapter 21

The address Bruce had been given led him to a huge and mostly unpopulated parking lot near Hollister Street.

Once he arrived, they patted him down for any hidden guns or other threats before they took his car keys and led him away. “I want to see my friend.” He protested until they yanked him over to a small diner. A push between his shoulder blades got him to stumble forward, into the dim-lit restaurant. Inside, it smelled of old cigarette smoke, alcohol, and grease from the kitchen, and Bruce squinted along the mostly empty tables.

He breathed out through his nose when he saw Tony being handcuffed, but able to walk, coming his way. “Fucking glad to see you. Where'd you get that ride?” He eyed the Lamborghini standing outside with curiosity. Wayne shrugged. “Cashed in an old favor.” By now, Stark's right eye was almost completely swollen shut, turning the smile he attempted into a grimace. “If we die, I’m going to kill you.” At that, Bruce grunted.

“I'll keep that in mind.”  
Before they could speak, Gonzales and two men were narrowing in on them.  
“Your car's prepared. Go.”

“Prepared?”  
Another hard shove into his back.  
“Move, bolillo.”

One final shared look with his partner, then Wayne went along. Once he approached the Aventador, Bruce saw the medium-sized transparent packages of white powder stored in the front trunk. His eyes flew over to the drug lord. “I thought I'd be racing.” The elder man tsked at his dumbfounded exclamation. “Your car is too fast for any patrol, provided you know how to ride. No, you're gonna run an errand for me."

The confusion Bruce truly did feel must have played upon his face because Gonzales motioned for his men to slam the trunk shut. He dangled the car key in front of Wayne's nose. "Head down to Monument Road, deliver the package, and maybe I'll forget about all the trouble you guys caused me.” Gonzales then grinned a smarmy smile. “Oh, and don't even think about trying to do something stupid.” He beckoned someone over.

“Pedro here will make sure you won't.” The man in question looked to be about Tony's age, with a shaved head and lots of tattoos covering face and neck. He slipped into the passenger seat with a nasty grin that revealed a set of crooked teeth and put his feet up on the dashboard. “Move your ass.” Bruce's gaze flew over to the Hispanics in the back. They held Tony in their middle, guns pointed at his head.

Mouth a thin line, Wayne got in behind the wheel. Mulling over several scenarios in his head, he steered the Aventador down Hollister Street. Part of him assumed Pedro was supposed to dispose of him once they had arrived at their destination. Part of him wondered if both he and Tony would make it out of this alive. When Pedro shifted in the seat and waved his gun at the windshield, it woke him from his dark musings.

“Turn right at the end of the road.”  
  
Wordless, Bruce did as he was told.  
  
The exchange of drugs against money was going to take place at an almost identical setting like back at Imperial Beach. Bruce's eyes scanned the surroundings and suspected he was outnumbered by at least seven to one, judging from the shadows that began to move as soon as they pulled up the parking lot. Pedro again brandished his gun about. “You stay inside and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

When the Mexican was about to exit the car, one hand on the scissor door in mid-motion, Bruce revved the engine and caused the other man to stumble and fall. As Pedro lay dazed on the ground from being hit in the face by the swinging door, Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt, lurched over and grabbed the gun he had dropped. He knelt on the passenger seat and pointed it at the Mexican's face.  
  
“Your phone! NOW!”  
Blood dripped from Pedro's nose onto his shirt.  
“Chinga tu madre!”  
  
Cocking the safety switch helped get Bruce's point across.  
“I'll kill you!”  
Wayne then snatched the device from his hands.  
  
“Mamadas.”

He slammed the door shut, barreled it and slipped back into the driver's seat. At the unforeseen commotion, the seven male targets Bruce had spotted then began to open fire at the Lamborghini. The first of many stray bullets wedged itself in the windshield, causing it to splinter like a spiderweb, and Bruce ducked. He put the idling Aventador into reverse as more bullets wheezed through the air.

A sharp, stinging pain above his clavicle caused him to wince and almost lose control of the controls. With gritted teeth, Wayne still yanked the wheel around, shifted into driving gear, and pressed the accelerator down hard. The men in front were quick to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. Bruce then peeled out of the parking space performing a zigzag course, Aventador swerving precariously.

Panting from adrenaline, he ignored the burning sensation on his collarbone and glimpsed at the device in his lap. Despite the screen lock, he was able to call 911. Phone wedged between his good shoulder and ear, Bruce reported the situation and the location of the men he had encountered. He then put the pedal to the metal, redlining the sports car in every gear. He needed to get to Gonzales before the police would.

The Lamborghini hurled insults at him in a screaming cacophony as the night blurred into one big dark swirl with flashes of light in between.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolillo - a term used to refer to white people, "white bread bun"  
> Chinga tu madre! - F**k you/yourself!  
> Mamadas - Bullshit


	22. Chapter 22

A roar outside got Tony to raise his head.

The Lamborghini was back and rolling onto the parking lot. It looked to be sporting stray bullet holes that riddled the car's windshield and bonnet. When Tony rose to his feet, curious and intrigued, Gonzales' men slammed their large palms down on his shoulders, indicating for him to stay put. Something outside did not seem to go according to plan, however, and his two guards moved to stand in the open door of the diner.

Tony caught bits and pieces of loud angry shouting which erupted, mostly in Spanish, and the name Pedro was dropped a couple of times. One glimpse out of the window revealed several guns were now pointed at Bruce, and with no one paying attention to him for a moment, Tony advanced in on his unobservant guards and rendered them unconscious with some well-placed, black belt Wing-Chun jabs to the neck.

Meanwhile, Wayne stood partly covered behind the Lamborghini and aimed some sort of semi-automatic directly at Gonzales. In return, the drug lord pointed a finger at him, fury written all over his full, round face. “I'm going to kill you and take your car, chingada madre. Your death will be slow and painful.” A round of bullets peppered the dust behind the Mexican gang members, making all of them flinch and jump.  
  
“Now, now, fellas. Nice and easy here.”

Tony Stark stood in the doorway of the diner, an AK-47 up and ready to fire, and mock-tutted at his partner. “Chazzman, you had _one_ job.” His grin was dark and feral as he stepped onto the parking lot. Bruce did not react other than to reinforce his two-handed grip on his gun. “Everybody hands up where we can see them.” Rifle and eyes trained on their opponents, Tony inched his way over to stand by Wayne's side.

Surrounded by his belligerent looking goons, Gonzales still dared to spread his arms wide. “You both don't have the guts to do what you need to do.” Another salve landed in the dust before his feet, causing him to step back. Tony's eyebrow quirked up. “Real unwise to tempt me, Burrito.” Bruce's eyes flickered from the hood of the Aventador back over to the drug dealer and his gang. Gonzales then spat into their direction.

“Cual es tu pinche pedo?”   
Tony glimpsed at Bruce, but Wayne's gaze stayed locked upon the drug lord.  
“Scum like you is. But not for much longer.”

With an emphatic nod at whatever Bruce had just replied to, Tony leaned in to whisper in his ear, own eyes fixated straight ahead. “Now would be a good time to call the cops.” Wayne sniffed. “Already did.” An awkward pause settled in. Tony cleared his throat. “... and?” Bruce rolled his shoulders which were starting to go numb in their position. “And what?” Sweat beads ran down Tony's face as he scrunched it up. “Where are they?”

Wayne's jaw twitched on its own accord. “Just stall for fuck's sake!” The aggravation in his hissed out voice was palpable. “This here's only gonna work for so long, y'know?” Tony's quiet objection should become reality faster than he liked. Roaring engines from behind indicated the arrival of at least two cars. Gonzales smirked. One glimpse back told Bruce they definitely did not fall into any kind of police category.

Bruce squinted at the Lamborghini again.  
No one had paid any attention to the faint trail of smoke billowing up from under the hood.  
No one except Bruce.

“You wanted my car?”

With those words, Wayne stepped a few steps back and fired several rounds at the fuming tank. Tony threw him a look of pure incredulity, like all other men did, but hopped back just in time. As soon as the gasoline in the tank ignited, the NOS produced a white, loud explosion followed by an even bigger flame. The gang members and Gonzales withdrew further into safety, right before the car was completely on fire.  
  
“Chiflado!”

They watched the apocalyptic scene right in front in aggravated confusion. Soon enough, flames licked around the cover, illuminated the night sky, and all hell broke loose. Tony and Bruce used the ablaze vehicle as a cover to fire away several shots at the gang members who had gone over to draw their weapons as well. “Some stalling this is!” Tony's face, soot-stained and full of tension, twisted into aggravated ennui.

Over the ruckus and the rattle of machine guns, a dull buzzing sound could be heard, gaining in intensity and volume. “Thank me later.” Bruce wiped an arm over his watering eyes, straining to see farther than an arm's length. After a while, clicking sounds revealed an empty clip, rendering Pedro's gun useless. Tony quickly assessed the situation and came to a decision. “Gonna bring in supplies. Cover me!”

With those words, Stark threw him his rifle and veered off, headed towards the ruckus. Bruce unleashed a foul curse but fired at everything that dared to get too close to his partner's weaving silhouette. After a little while, Tony materialized out of the tumbling fumes by his side again, two rifles in his hands. “Here!” In an instant, Bruce dropped the empty firearm, caught the new out of the air one-handed, and continued firing.

They soon were standing back to back, keeping their enemies at bay with all they had left. It was then that sirens started to howl through the night from far away, coming their way. Police cars suddenly were everywhere while the helicopter above was whipping up sand and dirt into their faces.

Gonzales' ugly warped face greeted them through the thick black smoke as it got hit by a search beam that illuminated the scene from above. “Vete a la chingada!” The gang members broke into a run, heading right into the waiting arms of the two SWAT teams which had surrounded the diner from the back. Handcuffs clicked left and right while police dogs barked out loud into the night.

With hunched shoulders, Tony stumbled and staggered along while the chaos all around started to clear up slowly but steadily. He limped over to where Bruce swayed on the spot, AK-47 still up and ready to shoot. Stark tried twice to catch his attention without success until he stepped right in the line of fire. “It's over, Chase. _Bruce._ Hey. D'you hear me, buddy? Put the gun down, c'mon.”

Wayne blinked as if he had just woken from some kind of warped realms. “...-Tony?” He looked at the other man. Tony Stark smiled, albeit forced. There were dark bags under his eyes, matching the lines of pain around his mouth. “Yeah. I'm here. I'm good. Just tired.” Wayne's knees buckled and he sunk into the dust with a grunt. Tony threw his own empty rifle aside, stepped up and slipped the AK-47 from Wayne's fingers.

He then joined him on the ground, shifting closer until their arms touched. Propped up against the smoldering remains of the burnt-out Aventador they leaned back and dully stared ahead. Tony drew one of his legs up and placed an arm upon it. Then he turned his head to look at his partner's subdued profile.  
  
“... B?”

“Hm?”

“I'm taking tomorrow off, jus' sayin.”

“... 'kay.”

* * *

"Stark! Wayne! My office! Now!"  
  
Looking at each other they rose from their chairs, almost in unison. Nick Fury stood in the doorway of their office, tall, dark, and most of all glowering. They followed him down the aisle until he had slammed the door shut behind them.

"In the past twelve weeks you let a customized Audi R8 deflagrate from too much NOS intake, you drowned a Kawasaki superbike, and you burnt down a limited edition Lamborghini Aventador. Not to mention the speeding ticket for doing 120 mph on a public highway - yeah, Wayne, I'm looking at you!” Next to him, Tony gave a quiet whistle and bobbed his head along with an almost melancholic expression.

“Oh yeah, that was a real doozy.”  
Fury almost lunged at him over his desk, to which both agents each took a polite step back.  
“That's a total fucking $ 650,000! At least! Care to explain?!"

"Well, Sir, it was..."  
Bruce looked at Tony, trying to find the right words. Stark shrugged with a semi-contrite expression.  
"... a rough coupl'a days, but we got the job done. Delivered you Gonzales on a silver platter."

A vein on the Deputy Director's temple began to protrude and throb. “In a way that endangered not only the whole undercover operation but also your lives and those of all officers and agents involved! That's not how you were supposed to run the case, Stark!” Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Fury slammed his palms on the desk. The table all but shook from the heavy impact, sending a few pens scattering to the floor.

“Suspended. Both of you. Until further notice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chingada madre - 'mofo' (vulg.)  
> Cual es tu pinche pedo? - What's your f***ing problem?  
> Chiflado! - Crazy/nuts!  
> Vete a la chingada! - Go to hell!


	23. Chapter 23

The first week of inactivity was pure bliss to Bruce. He slept in until noon, munched Chinese takeout for lunch, and took care of all things and chores he had neglected during his latest case. When everything was fixed, cleaned up, all of the laundry dried and ironed on day eight, he became restless. That was when his phone rang. On the other end was Tony Stark, sounding bored out of his mind.

“I got this fucking great crib and can't invite normal people over because it's all part of the UC. Soo – you wanna hang?”  
  
Bruce frowned into the receiver.  
  
“I am... abnormal? Is that what you want to say?”

“Quit nitpicking, dig out your swim shorts and come over.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

With that, Bruce hung up. After less than ten seconds, it rang again.

“What?!”

“Geez, you're such a drama queen, Wayne. All I asked is for you to pay me a little visit.”

“Why?”

“Cause I don't have anyone else.”  
The acid retort on Bruce's tongue died.  
He glimpsed around his small apartment and its -as usual- empty fridge.  
  
“You better have something decent for dinner.”

* * *

Arriving at Point Dume later that afternoon, Bruce realized it was the first time he had ever seen the mansion in a cleaned up, neat state. The house was spacious, luxurious, and surrounded by a fantastic view upon the ocean and a nearby, national park. Stark opened him at the second ring of the doorbell, dressed in a tight, plain t-shirt and gray, baggy sweatpants. “Sweet, you're early. Wait a sec.”

Tony squeezed past him to head for a red Volkswagen GTI parked in front of Bruce's pick-up. He dug into the trunk and produced two bags full of groceries. His tanned arms were lean and taut under the sleeves of the white shirt as he carried them over. “Hey, space cadet! Don't just stand there - c'mon and help me.” Dumbfounded, Bruce realized just then what was striking him as weird. Tony had gone and shaved off his goatee.

Paired with his non-gelled, curly hair he suddenly looked far younger than during their time working undercover.

Taking one of the bags from his hands, Wayne followed him over into the large open kitchen area. “What's this going to be?” They placed each of the bags onto the counter and Tony wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “You said you wanted to eat, so I got all the necessary stuff for a fantastic dinner.” Staring down at the many fresh produce and ingredients in the bags, Bruce's forehead crinkled with skepticism.

“Could've ordered takeout instead.” Tony curled his lips in disgust. “Pshh, takeout, fakeout. Revolting. Nothing better than some homemade pasta. Easy, quick, and healthier than the stuff from the delivery service.” He then slammed the fridge shut. “... but first things first. Pool time!” Once he had pulled the glass sliding doors open, Tony was quick to rid himself of his shirt and shimmied out of his pants.

Revealing a blue pair of swim trunks with colorful flowers, he broke into a sprint and cannonballed into the pool with a mighty splash that sent water sloshing over the rim. When his guest lingered in the open doorway, Stark's wet head bobbed up and a set of white teeth leered at him. “Don't be shy, Wayne. You've got nothing I haven't seen before.” Indignant, Bruce stepped out on the patio and headed for the banister.

After glancing at the ocean for the longest time, he turned around. By now Tony was floating upon an inflatable sun tanner, arms behind his head and ankles crossed. Upon not feeling watched anymore, Bruce pulled his shirt over his head and folded it together to put it onto a nearby recliner. He did the same with his jeans, revealing a pair of nondescript dark blue swim trunks.  
  
At the comedic whistle from behind, Bruce glared. Tony was squinting into his direction, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Hey, do me a favor before you come in – get me my glasses over there.” Tony pointed at a small table. “Don't get them wet, though - they're vintage.” Seeing no other option to achieve that other than to put them on, Bruce slipped on the shades, waded into the pool, and swam over to where Tony floated.

As he held onto the inflatable, he was met with a Cheshire grin. “Hmm. Not bad. Hot, even. Maybe you should keep them. They look good on you.” Removing the glasses with ginger fingers, Bruce thrust them into his direction, impatient. “Take them now.” With a sigh, Tony did as he was told. Once his eyes disappeared behind mirrored lenses, Bruce let go of the float and dove under, relishing the cool on his burning cheeks.

After a few, deft strokes he reappeared, crossing the distance to the pool's wall in a flawless crawl until his fingers touched the tiles. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, eyes drawn back over to the vast ocean to his right. “Whom does this estate belong to?” At his question, Tony's head rose several inches, shades flashing in the sunlight. “Huh? Oh, some rich dude. Billionaire or something. Dunno. Lucky bastard in any case.”

“Hm.”

“For real. Can you imagine that? Being rich as fuck?”

Bruce's mouth curved into a disdained line.

“Money ain't everything.”

“No, but it reassures all the more.” Tony started to paddle through the water with his hands left and right until he was at the rim of the pool. Shedding his sunglasses at a safe place, he then got to his feet and struck a wobbling surfer's pose on the float. “Someday I'll be rich enough to own a place like this.” Wayne narrowed his eyes both at his words and the way Tony balanced dangerously close to the rim.

“Stop goofing around. You're gonna crack your skull and I'll have to call an ambulance.” The smirk Tony cast him was full of endearment. “Aww, Brucie's worried about me.” Hazel eyes flashed with ire. “Shut it.” He pushed off the rim with vigor and started to cross the pool's length again. A splash and ripple through the water indicated that Tony had indeed abandoned his perilous stance and dove in with a front flip.

His dark form soon appeared by Bruce's side, until they were basically racing each other for the pool's end. Bruce's hand touched the tiled walls a split second before Tony did, and both gulped out for air. Stark brushed some wayward bangs from his forehead, leaving them sticking up in many directions. “Almost got'cha.” Wayne snuffled against the chlorine running down the back of his throat. “Didn't, though.”  
  
“Everything's a competition with you.”

“I could say the same.”

“I am usually a very chill dude.”

“Same here.”

“Nah, you're... you're more of a dormant volcano dude.”  
The comparison was so odd, Bruce could not help but laugh.  
“Anybody ever told you just how weird you are?”

“Yup. None of them lived long enough to tell the tale.”

“Why? You bored them to death with your yapping?”  
At that, Tony's grin turned feral.  
“Now's the time for some ass-whipping!”

He flung himself at Bruce with a warrior scream, but Wayne dodged his attack and dove under to grab him by the waist. Thrown backward, Tony's back hit the water surface with a big splash. When his dark head reappeared, there was combative delight written all over his dripping wet countenance. “You're stronger than you look, lanky monkey.” Wayne raised his chin, all supercilious. “And you're quite heavy for a bantam.”

Both smirked at each other's insults. They wrestled some more until Bruce managed to wedge Tony between the rim of the pool and his own body. Immobilizing him with both arms behind his back, Wayne shifted his weight on the tiled floor and regarded the dark, dripping locks in his opponent's nape. “Give it up already.” Stark turned his head so that Bruce was able to see his profile, already writhering anew against his hold.

“Like hell.” His voice was breathless and a bit strained. Bruce's eyes fell down onto Tony's bare shoulder and saw the faint white scar from his gunshot wound. Without a word, he released him, to which Tony's hand came up and clasped for his rotator cuff. Bruce wiped a hand over his damp face and exhaled, backing off. “Enough of this.” He made a move to leave but had not counted on Tony's hand around his wrist.  
  
“Just so we're clear. None of this pity party shit between us. Not now, or ever. Got that?”  
Surprised at the quiet venom in Stark's voice, Wayne cleared his throat and glanced over at the ocean.  
“Dinner?”  
  
Squinting over to where Tony was still catching his breath, the latter gave a curt nod.  
  
“Dinner.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Tony soon came to find out Bruce Wayne was a klutz who could not cook a decent meal even if his life depended on it. In return, Bruce was convinced that Tony Stark basically had no concept of personal space; continuously invading his even in a more than large kitchen environment. After bumping into each other for the umpteenth time, Tony had it. “Stop fussing around here and park your inept butt over there at the table.”

With a grumpy shrug, Bruce did as he was told, fiddling with his phone until a steaming plate appeared under his nose ten minutes later. Without further ado, he poked a fork into the pile, blew a little on the pasta and took a bite. He continued to eat while browsing his phone until Tony put his own fork down and glared. “And?” Hazel eyes looked up and fixated him. “And what?” Tony's fingers drummed on the tabletop.

“How is it?”

“It's okay.”

“ _Okay?!”_

Seeing Stark was about to blow a fuse, Wayne relented with a lopsided smirk and put the phone aside.

“It's good.”

For a while, they ate in an awkward silence, the only sounds being the occasional clink of tableware. “So...” Bruce looked up from where he had scraped the remains of the sauce onto his spoon. Tony had already finished eating and was watching him intently with his elbows up on the table and his fingers forming a steeple. With a frown, Wayne reached for his napkin to wipe his mouth. Stark then gestured in-between them.

“You and me, we need more bonding moments, now that we've been through all of this shit together. I mean, we really are heaps different in so many ways, it's best if we know a little more about what makes the other one tick and such. Also, it'll help with improving our teamwork by far.” Sensing a trap, Wayne pushed his empty plate away. “I'm not sharing any more off-the-record stories with you.”

Tony made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat and got off his chair. “I said tick, not tick off. Sheesh.” He reached over to grab both his and Wayne's plate and put them into the dishwasher, out of their sight. When he turned back, Bruce was sitting with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Even though I still wonder about that 'Shackled to the bed' incident. But no, none of that.”

Rendered helpless by his own social ineptitude, the Gothamite withdrew into his head for a few heartbeats, intently staring at the table. When he squinted upward, there was caution in his eye. “Then what do you want?” Tony gave a soft chuckle as he closed the lid of the dishwasher with a kick of his heel. “Dunno, what do guys usually do? Go for a drink, play snooker, work out together – that kinda stuff.”

“You want us to be,” Bruce paused, trying to find the right words. “Friends?” He pronounced it like a foreign expression, probing it around on his tongue. Stark nodded along as he meandered over to fetch two espresso cups from a cupboard and put them underneath a sleek, chrome espresso machine in the corner.

“I know you said it's not in your job description, but that was before I waited for you to pick me up from Mexican-Mafia-Mob-Småland, and before you set a friggin' pimped Lamborghini on fire.” The espresso machine began to sputter and briefly diverted his attention. Bruce heaved a breath and exhaled audibly. “Will you ever let me live that down?” At the subtle humor in his voice, a real grin crossed Tony's features.  
  
Bruce wondered when it was that he became aware that there was a difference.  
  
“Nope. I would've loved to floor that baby at least once.” He handed his guest the first cup of strong brown liquid, and Wayne's arms uncrossed on their own accord. Tony then grabbed his own espresso, returned to the table and flipped his chair around in an airy move to place his arms upon the backrest. With one hand propping up his chin, he took a slurp, only to stare off into the distance with a smirk that soon turned real cheeky.  
  
“Bet that R8 would've still blown it out of the water, though.”  
Bruce snorted.  
“You wish.”

No matter what Tony tried, Wayne was adamant about leaving after finishing his espresso. His hair was still damp and slightly curled around the ears as he stood in the mansion's lobby, car keys already in hand. “Thanks for the food and the pool.” Stark's smirk held diffuse emotions. “No prob. Gotta make the most of this while I can, eh?” Bruce gave an awkward nod that was part consent, part goodbye and trotted off.

Tony leaned in the open doorway of the mansion with his ankles crossed and watched him get behind the wheel of his black Toyota. Wayne threw him a final, brief glance before he put the car into reverse and maneuvered past Tony's GTI down the circular driveway. Stark remained standing frozen in place, waiting until the taillights of the old pick-up were completely gone from view before closing the door.

* * *

It was just Bruce's luck that Tony was really adamant about working on their so-called bonding exercises. Once Wayne had opened the door of his small apartment in Koreatown one late Saturday afternoon, he found his partner standing outside, white teeth gleaming. “I figured I'll spare you the trouble of inviting me over to your place. Happy Birthday, by the way. Didn't think I'd remember that one, eh? Genius memory.”  
  
While Bruce still pondered if it was acceptable to slam the door into his face, Tony made a stupid finger pistol gesture at him and wiggled his eyebrows in a comical way. “Ready for your Dirty Thirty, Waynester?” Bruce groaned into the door frame. “Is it too late to send you back home?”  
  
“Yup.”

Stark then slipped past him into his apartment with a duck and a twist, shielding an expensive looking bottle with a ribbon around its neck in his arms. At the bleak state of the living room that greeted him, he stopped on the spot and stared. His eyes wandered along plain white walls and sparse furnishings placed around the condo for the longest time, then Tony's face morphed into one of clear and present confusion.

“Wait up. You're turning 30 and plan on staying at home doing... nothing?”

“... Yes?!”

“Oh, c'mon! No, I cannot condone this. Leave it up to me. I got the booze, I'll bring on the strippers.” Before Tony could reach for his phone, there was Bruce's hand on his arm. “Forget it. I'm not wasting my hard-earned money on that.” Stark's lips curled. “Pretty sure your GS-13 can handle it.” He nevertheless forgot about the phone and exposed the bottle in his arms instead. Bruce recognized it as a Siete Leguas Tequila.

“Let's do some shots first, I'm sure that'll change your mind. You got any decent glasses for that?”

Knowing resistance was futile, Bruce waved into the overall direction of his kitchen. Tony made himself at home in an instant and rummaged around all kinds of cupboards until he returned with two mini tumblers Wayne did not remember to own. “Not the best, but they'll do. Let us at least drink to your good health and stuff.” He was already pouring two shots with an eager look on his face. Bruce's eyebrow twitched.

“The one health that's going to suffer by drinking exactly said stuff?”  
Tony handed him a glass, and despite his mockery, Bruce took it.  
“Salud!”

Thanks to Tony's teambuilding, most of the Tequila was gone after an hour. Much to his surprise, Bruce then went and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a drawer and went to open the nearest window. “This is entirely your fault.” The cigarette moved in between his lips as tried to get the Zippo to work. “I stopped two years ago.” For a while, Tony said nothing and only watched him smoke out into the night.

Eventually, he stood up to join his partner at the window and made grabby hands. Wayne willingly held out the pack for him to take one and clicked his lighter as Tony leaned in close. He exhaled after a long drag, expelling a thin gust of smoke that spoke of skill. “I stopped when I left Cage&Fish almost ten years ago.” Bruce threw him a pointed look. “You were smoking nonstop during the past few weeks.”

“My UC's don't count.”

Wayne slipped the lighter into the back pocket of his denims before he assumed a casual pose against the windowsill. “Speaking of Cage&Fish - what about that lawyer stunt? I thought it was a fake.” Tony shook his head and attempted to blow some wonky rings with a few contorted moves of his jaw.

"I knew the courtroom was not where I wanted to be. And I really didn't aspire to spend the rest of my life tethered to a desk, so the Bureau it was. Getting paid to play cops and robber sounded like a good idea at that time." Bruce listened with quiet interest in between taking drags of his own cigarette. “And?” Tony smiled at him, endearing and roguish at the same time.

"I still remember my first case - damn, you should've seen my knees shaking that day. Bet _you_ never knew the jitters even back then." Wayne returned his smile, albeit less wide. "Investigating an art theft ring. I was scared shitless sitting in a fake office front in Santa Monica with a hidden room full of backup agents who operated audio and video recording equipment." Tony grinned at the sudden vote of confidence.

“Nothing like that jazzed-up feel, eh? No school can really prepare you for this job.”  
Bruce nodded and flicked a bunch of ash out of the window.  
“Back then, I preferred to work the high wire alone."

Something like apprehension flickered up in Tony's eyes.  
“But now you don't. Or do you?”  
Wayne stubbed his cigarette onto the window ledge and snatched it off into the night.

“We'll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's 'brief lawyer stunt' at Cage&Fish is a nod-and-wink reference to RDJ's character on 'Ally McBeal' (albeit Larry Paul didn't work for C&F, but whatever)


	25. Chapter 25

Tony ran the base of his thumb over his eye and suppressed a yawn.

“I need something else to drink. What'cha got round here?” Out of instinct, his hand came to clasp Bruce's shoulder, letting it linger for a trifle too long. Wayne's mellowed out state allowed him to get away with his actions and he craned his head to look over at the fridge. “There's a six-pack somewhere in there, I think.” Stark finished his smoke and padded over to affirm his suspicions.

“Coors Light? Man, you don't really care for having people over.” A mirthless smirk. “Guilty, your Honor.” Two bottlenecks in between his fingers, Tony came back and made a dauntless grope for the Zippo in the back pocket of Bruce's denims. Hazel eyes narrowed at his audacity, but Tony put the lighter to one bottle and plopped its lid. “Here. Cheers.” Wayne took the beer from his hand and said nothing.

When Tony was done, he handed him the lighter back and clinked the bottles together.  
“To your birthday, the case we dunked, and... to us, eh?”  
Each sipped from their beer, only to scrunch up their faces in mutual disgust immediately after.

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Nevertheless, they kept the bottles close at hand. Bruce then shut the window and gave a wave into the general direction of his little beige two-seater sofa. It was barely big enough to accommodate one grown up person. He, himself, therefore dropped into the single wing chair in the other corner of the room. Stark managed to fold his body gracefully down onto the couch, legs dangling over one armrest.

His gaze traveled around the sparse room again, only to rest at its resident. “This apartment's soo lacking a personal touch.” When Bruce shrugged with indifference, Tony pursed his lips and frowned. “Don't you get complaints from the ladies?” The Gothamite's expression turned disparaging. “This job puts a damper on dating.” Stark tilted his head. “There's enough opportunities. Ever been to the field office in Miami?”

Bruce negated, and Tony looked wistfully in thought. “Oh, man, yeah, those were the times. It was like an all you can fuck buffet some five to six years ago!" With great effort, he then squinted at his watch. “Speakin of which.. we gotta get goin if we wanna make it to the strip club in time. Best lap dances in town.” Bruce pushed his bottom lip forward but made no further attempts to get up. “I don't really care for those, I told you.”

Tony rubbed his nose. “Strippers or lap dances?” A grunt. “Both.” At that, Stark grinned. “You haven't had a good one yet then.” Wayne shrugged, taking another gulp from his beer. “Probably.” Tony's grin turned shrewd. “Imma show you what'cha been missing out upon.” Bruce gave a drunk simper and slouched deeper into the chair, bottle balancing on one thigh. “Now I'm curious.”

Stumbling a little as he got up, Tony chuckled to himself as he made his way over to the little sound system in the corner. “Just you wait.” When the plastic case of a CD clattered to the floor, Bruce pointed the bottle at Tony's back. “Hey! Don't break my stuff!” Waving him off, Stark continued to fumble with the stereo until an all-too-familiar guitar intro of The Clash resounded from the speakers.

Bruce actually laughed out loud, only to shake his head along. “Should I stay or should I go is _not_ a strip song.” Tony swung around with dramatics and put his bottle aside. “Every song's a strip song if you're doin' it right.” He put up a smoldering expression and began to move his hips. Wayne took another sip of his beer but kept on watching him with a stupid grin.

With slow, deliberate moves, Tony then sashayed back over into his direction, glancing at him in drunk delight. Bruce's left eyebrow quirked on its own account. “Done this before, eh?” Stark's finger began to run a trail down his shirt, watching Bruce's eyes follow his every motion. “Might'a.” Mesmerized by the way the shirt buttons plopped up one by one, Wayne blinked several times.

It did not take long until the shirt landed in his lap and Tony stood between his splayed legs. His hips were gyrating in tune with the music while his lips were mouthing the lyrics along. He inched lower, bracing himself on Bruce's knees while spreading them apart even further until he was at eye level with his crotch. It was then that Wayne jerked and attempted to draw away from his scrutiny.

With his equilibrium failing, Tony reeled and all but fell on top of him. One of his knees hit Bruce in the stomach area to which the latter protested with a groan. “Ouch! Freakin' watch it!” All giggles, Stark braced himself against the armrests of the chair. “This's the part that costs extra.” Bruce huffed, a bit winded after taking a hit right into his intestines. " _You've_ groped _me,_ not vice versa. Now get off, you're heavy.”

From where Tony was straddling him, Bruce glimpsed at his bare chest and up to his face. The music had faded out by now, leaving only the sound of their out of sync breathing in the air. Stark's eyes darted all over his face a few times until they lingered on Wayne's mouth. With a crooked and downright impish smirk, Tony then reached out and cupped his chin. “Happy birthday, Chucky.”

Closing the minuscule distance between them, he pressed his lips to Bruce's, fighting down the urge to snigger at his prank. Before he could duck away into safety, he was surprised to hear and feel Wayne's soft moan into his mouth. Startled, Tony pulled back just enough to watch the swirling emotions in the other man's darkened, equally surprised eyes. Bruce's breathing was labored and he averted his gaze.

At the distinctive bulge Tony then felt between his legs, he drew in a sharp breath. “O--kay, uhm... uh... Bruce...” Wayne shook his head and tried to push him away, more insistent that time. “Off!” Despite his tries, Tony stayed where he was, using his leverage position to keep his partner pinned to the chair. Before Bruce got any more agitated and furious, Tony decided to push his luck and leaned in once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... are 25 chapters to be considered slow burn? I hope so xD


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: A not-too-detailed m/m scene in the first part of this chapter (2nd and 3rd base stuff only) please read at own discretion :)

The struggles stopped a few seconds into their second kiss. When Bruce's palms landed square on his bare chest, it was Tony's turn to moan into his half-opened mouth. For a while they kept on making out; kisses turning more heated and wet by the minute. As soon as Tony started to grind his pelvis into his partner's lap and the growing arousal inside his denims, Wayne sucked in a huge breath and pulled his head back.

“We... have to... stop.” His voice was almost breathless. Tony regarded his slightly swollen lips and licked his own for an aftertaste. “Why?” His question seemed to baffle Wayne. He blinked several times and ran a hand over his face. “Fraternization policy. If this gets out, we're both doomed.” His voice hitched when Tony's fingers found their way under his shirt and started playing with his belt buckle. “Oh, I ain't tellin.”

Stupefied, Bruce watched him slide to the floor to work his way from the open belt buckle to the buttons of his jeans. When Tony ran a thumb over the base of his cock, Wayne groaned. “Please, I don't...” Tony's hungry eyes looked up as his hands freed him from the final piece of fabric. “Can I suck you off?” Tony's voice was pleading, and resulted in Bruce giving a strangled sound he interpreted as a yes. “C-co... condom.”

It sounded more like a sob than a request. Tony shook his head and pressed a kiss against a milky thigh instead. “Read your file, remember? You're clean, I'm clean. And I really hate latex on my tongue.” To avoid further awkward conversation, he simply moved over to take him into his mouth all at once. The sound Bruce Wayne made when he deep-throated him for the first time was pure music to Tony Stark's ears.

His own cock was straining hard inside his pants by now, itching for release, but he kept his hands on the insides of Bruce's thighs, raking short nails along soft skin. When Tony risked a glimpse upwards, Wayne had tilted his head back against the headrest, exposing taught lines on his pale throat. He was trying hard not to make any sound but the way his fingers clawed around the armrests spoke volumes.

“Fuck, you're so hot when you're about to come.” To enforce his intentions, Tony went down on him again, hands traveling down to the sensitive part between his balls. It had the desired effect and Bruce came with a shuddering groan in between clenched teeth. Afterward, his ragged breathing filled the air and Tony unsteadily scrambled to his feet again. He was stopped by a rough hand around his wrist.

“Turn... around. P... pants down.” With the blood pulsating in his ears, Tony did as he was told. He struggled a little against the massive erection that made unbuttoning difficult. Bruce then pulled him atop of him into the chair while nimble fingers reached down to grasp his shaft, while an arm looped around Tony's waist to hold him in place. Wayne gave a few strokes to set up a rhythm and Stark dropped his head against his chest.

“Fuck yes. Oh fuck, yes. Faster, c'mon...”  
Wayne' s own, heavy breathing was close to his right ear.  
“Watch. Watch how I jerk you off.”  
  
Opening his eyes, Tony raised his head to do as he was told. The sight, the feel of Bruce's warm, still twitching cock against his crack and his lips brushing along the sensitive skin of his neck led Tony to cry out as he spilled all over his stomach and Wayne's steady hand. His head then lolled back against Bruce's neck and he pressed his lips against a fluttering pulse. “Fuck th' strip club.” Tony's voice was sated and tired.  
  
“CanIsleephere?”

* * *

It was a rather restless and, in Bruce's opinion, otherworldly night. He was not accustomed to sharing his twin-size bed, with anyone, and Tony Stark was like a warm, clingy bed hog who at some point went over to occupy the mattress sprawled out like a demented starfish. Still, his own inebriated state made Bruce fall asleep some time; his dreams bleak.

Once he woke up with a mean, blinding hangover, it took a while for the Gothamite to dare and crack one eye open with caution. He was prone on his stomach, saw a closeup of a pile of clothes right in front of his bed, and felt a cold chill on his exposed lower legs where the blanket was not covering him anymore. Even without all of his senses back to being fully alert, he could feel that the room was empty.

It prompted him to extract his arm from underneath his body and squint at the small dial of his watch. 11:37. His wrist showcased a massive imprint, so he took the watch off and slipped it onto the nightstand. Feeling like his head was wrapped in cotton, Bruce then attempted to get into vertical by pushing the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the rim one by one. 

Looking down to where he was only wearing boxer briefs, he stared at the jumbled pile of clothes again, trying to find an answer to a question his mind had not yet asked him. His full bladder decided to take the initiative, so Bruce stood up, one hand braced against the closet, and shuffled out to use the restroom. As soon as he had opened the bedroom door, the distinctive smell of coffee hit his nostrils.

Squinting at no one in particular, Bruce peeked around the open kitchenette area. There, Tony Stark stood, also dressed in boxer shorts, and wielded one of his pans around on the stove. He had thrown over what looked to be Bruce's shirt from last night, its too long sleeves rolled and pushed up to the elbows. Their eyes met over the counter where two cups and plates stood, together with a container of milk and some jam.

“Hiya, sleepyhead. In the mood for scrambled eggs and an awkward morning-after-talk?”

Bruce only gave an unintelligible groan before he slouched on to disappear in the bathroom. When he returned, still hungover but halfway presentable, Tony had seen to prepare toast and juice. “I don't remember owning orange juice.” Stark grasped for one of the glasses in question and sipped. “You didn't. I went and asked your neighbor for some.” Ignoring the shocked look upon Bruce's pale face, Tony put his glass down.

“Such a sweetheart that elder dude. Alfred something or other. You guys apparently never met in person, cause he called _me_ Mister Wayne.” When Bruce said nothing, Tony waved him off and went to scoop eggs on his plate. “Soo... yesterday. Was that your first guy-on-guy experience?” Wayne shook his head and stared at his food. Tony hummed into his coffee.  
  
“Tsk. I never pegged you as gay.”  
A meager grin, followed by Bruce picking up the fork.  
“That's cause I'm bi.”  
  
Stark sputtered but was quick to cover it up with a grin and a whistle. “Whew. Okay. Still waters run deep after all.” Munching on the first, tender bites, Bruce raised his eyes to look at something outside the kitchen window. “First time with a colleague, though.” Stark licked the corner of his mouth and put the mug down in favor of a piece of toast. “Never mix business with pleasure, eh? How very stalwart of you.”  
  
The way Tony said it was sans malice, so Bruce let it slide. “How do you plan on handling this now?” Twirling the butter-smeared knife in between his fingers, Tony gave a carefree shrug. “I'm willing to give it a shot. Sure, I'm bound to be frustrated how I can't walk into our office and just kiss you, but apart from that - no biggie.” Bruce let that matter-of-fact statement sink in. “A... shot?” Tony gave him a dubious nod.

“Yeah, you and me. Why, are you saying you just wanted a quick shag or what?”

“N-no, but...”

All satisfied, Stark got up from his chair to fetch more coffee. “So that's settled then.” He poured them both half a cup and stopped behind the Gothamite to give his tense shoulders a quick massaging session. “I can do hide-and-seek relationships like no one else. You could say I'm an expert.” Bruce groaned, though not because of the thumbs pressing into his flesh. “That's exactly what I wanted to avoid. This... secrecy.”  
  
Getting up on his toes, Tony leaned over to peek at him from up above, rakish grin on his face.“You mean the Federal Bureau of Investigaytion cannot handle us?” The way he pronounced it wrong on purpose prompted Bruce to palm his forehead within both hands. "Please don't ever say that again.” A loving pat upon his back. “C'mon, let's get showered so you can walk me to the bus station. Some fresh air'll do your hangover good.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

They still were suspended in week seven. It gave them more time to get to know each other on an even more intimate level, and Bruce had no choice but to finally wrap his head around the concept of being in the early stages of what was commonly called a relationship. Among the many tender firsts like going for walks and working out together, Wayne had to admit that the benefits outweighed the disadvantages.

At least, Tony could cook.

“It's called cacciatore.”

The airy pronunciation got Bruce to squint over Tony's shoulder into the large frying pan he did not remember to own or buy, like many other items in his kitchen. A delicious smelling swirl of herbs, tomato, and other vegetables was simmering along with what looked to be chicken.

“Catch-a...”  
His bumbling attempt earned him an affectionate poke to his ribs.  
“Gah, you hopeless Fedman – go make yourself useful and set the table, will ya.”  
  
Bruce placed his hands left and right of Tony's body and pinned him against the kitchen counter, though with minimal force, to softly bite into the side of his neck. “Give me a little initiative.” Squirming under his ministrations, Stark grinned and fetched a spoonful of sauce to hold out into Bruce's direction. Slurping a little against the hot flavoring, Wayne probed the taste around on his tongue. Eventually, he nodded his consent.

“Not too bad.”  
Stark kicked his butt with a semi-serious foot and snorted.  
"It's splendid, given the meager resources I've had. You really need a mini herb garden. For the shelf.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I told ya – this apartment needs some Luvin, capital L.”

“You're getting a good load of that already.”

“We can't keep on fucking piss drunk or with the lights out, babe.”

“Oh, please.”

“At least buy a goddamn bigger bed and some cushions.”

“Suck it.”

“Oh, I'd _love_ to. If only these spartan walls wouldn't turn me off all the time.”

At that, Bruce said something rather crude and went to distribute forks, knives, and napkins. As expected, the food was delicious, and their good-natured quarrel forgotten by the time the dishes were empty. Grabbing his glass of red wine, Tony sat down on the couch and put his feet upon the table, ankles crossed. “C'mere now. I want a massage for standing in the kitchen for hours.”  
  
Unperturbed, Wayne kept on drying the dishes and putting them back into the cupboards. “Once I'm done.” Sipping from his glass, Tony continued to watch his lover wipe down the counter with something between fond affection and incredulity. “You're awfully meticulous for a bachelor.” Wielding a checked dish towel around, Bruce huffed. “Until I can afford to hire a butler, I'm not going to mess it up.”  
  
Putting the damp towel over the oven door handle, he squinted at his grinning lover. “Speaking of which – why are you still residing in that goddamn UC palace? The case is long over.” Tony spread his arms and looked at him as if there was only one answer to such an incredulous question.

“Cause it suits me?! It's sleek, extrovert, and sexy. And the rent's been paid until the end of next month. So there. If it fits, I sits. FBI can call the U-Haulers when I'm done.” Bruce took a seat next to him and grabbed his legs to place them square across his lap. “Done having pipe dreams you mean.” When he dutifully began to knead the soles of Tony's feet, the latter groaned in blissful delight and snuggled deeper into the couch.

“If you want me to move in with ya, just admit it. Nothing wrong with that, especially if I get one of those each night. Holy fuck you're good at... ouch, hey - not _that_ hard!” Bruce grimaced but continued to press his thumbs into the arches of his feet.“That's the most ridiculous idea you've ever had.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows at him. “You clearly don't know me that well yet.” He instantly regretted his answer.

“Not a good basis for rooming together then.” Wayne's voice was surprisingly deadpan. “Boo.” Tony's exclamation was also aimed at the fact that Bruce had stopped massaging and slipped Tony's legs off. “Not even the promise of getting a hearty dose of my DNA rifle each and every night?” Wayne rubbed at his own nape and cast his lover a glare. “... you didn't just make a horrific pun about your dick.”

“It wasn't Full Metal Jacket quality, but I found it hilarious. I have it from Rhodey.”

“You sure haven't.”

“No, you're right – it was Happy who said it last week.”

“We're suspended for almost two months now, Tony.”

“Maybe he texted it to me? Do you want me to show it to you or what?”

His tone was becoming snippy, to which Bruce relented and reached over to run a hand through Tony's thick, dark locks and all the way down to his cheek. “You're missing work more than I thought if you're texting Hogan already.” His lover nuzzled into his palm, eyes half-closed, and eventually nodded. “Yeah, even though it's great not getting shot at for a change. Don't tell me you're any different, B.”

The phone rang and Bruce got up to fetch it. Straining to listen in, Tony soon heard Wayne's voice turning crisp, and saw his stance becoming almost soldier-like. He got up and caught his eyes as he mimicked him, to which Bruce swatted him away and turned around to speak undisturbed.

“Yes, Sir. Of course not, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”  
A click and the call was over. Something like excitement flashed over Bruce's features.  
“That was the Deputy Chief. We might be back in the game sooner than we thought.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

“Morning, Sir.”  
“Good morning, Agent Stark.”  
Gordon stared long and hard at his t-shirt with its many 1s and 0s within three light-gray stripes.  
  
“Dare I ask what that means?”  
A wide, Cheshire grin.  
“'You are dumb' - converted from ASCII to binary. Erm, no offense, Sir.”  
  
The Deputy Chief of Staff shook his head, but his mustache moved as if to hide a smirk. “None taken. Apparently, your mood improved ever since you and Wayne decided to take things... further.” Tony froze, an aghast frown between his brows. Jim Gordon pressed a cup of coffee into his hands. “Aw, shucks. Already? What gave us away?” He darkly muttered around the mug he raised to his lips. Deputy Chief Gordon smiled.

“The fact that I've just caught Agent Wayne whistling. Plus, you have that mighty stupid grin on your face. No offense, Agent.” Tony scrunched up his nose, clear and present panic starting to make his cheeks flush. “Why no, I... always grin. I'm a happy fella.” Gordon's smug smile never wavered. “But not like a lovesick teenager. Come on, Stark, how do you think I got this job?” Tony's eyes darted in between his. "Uh..."

"Because I am a good detective, Agent. I believe that's what you wanted to say." He watched in amusement as the younger agent rubbed at his nape.  “Okay, uh... this is not... I mean, you know Br... Agent Wayne. He's not happy if anyone... and the fraternization rules.. he was...” The elder man took a sip from his own mug before he leaned in closer, a look of conspiracy in his eyes.

“I, for one, do not care about, nor mind what you guys do in your free time, and I do not plan on telling anybody else. Just know one thing: As long as you are on the clock, it's business before anything else.” Jim Gordon's smirk then turned almost fatherly. “At least, you've stopped biting each other's heads off. And no, keep that potentially indecent answer to yourself, Agent.” Tony mimicked his smile, relief well hidden. “Sure thing.”

“Good morning, Sir.”  
Both turned to see Wayne enter the office, and their conversation fell short as abrupt as it had started.  
“Good morning, Agent Wayne.”  
  
Tony marveled at his lover, all tall and clean-shaven in his business suit. Bruce threw him a quick, unemotional glance that hid the fact they had screwed pretty hard and heavy in the shower no two and a half hours ago. Gordon motioned for them both to have a seat opposite of him at the desk. “I have a new case. You don't have to decide right away, as it's a bit... rougher than the usual MO.” Interest piqued, Bruce raised his chin.

“What is it?”  
Gordon's glasses flashed under the neon lights from above as he leaned back in his chair.  
“A pedophile prostitution ring.”

“Nuh-uh.”  
Tony was the first to speak up and shake his head at the same time.  
“Fucking no. No way. No way, José”

Gordon looked at Bruce whose jaw worked, even if he did not speak otherwise.

“... Agent Wayne?”

“Boys and girls?”

“Only boys.”

“Where? LA?”

At that, Tony leaned forward, elbows on his thighs.

“You can't be serious.”

His whispered hiss was loud enough for Jim Gordon to hear.

“Actually no, it's in... Gotham City.”

“I'm in.”

“ _... Bruce!”_  
  
Stark's tone was louder and harsher than expected. The Deputy Chief cleared his throat to try and break the awkward tension between his employees. “No need to rush, gentlemen. Think about it, talk it over, and let me know your decision by the end of the month. UC wouldn't start earlier than November.”

* * *

Once they were on their way back home, which respectively was still Bruce's apartment, Wayne for once was the first to break the silence. “I don't see why that should be a problem.” Tony stopped twiddling with the center console and harrumphed. “I can tell you a bazillion reasons for why that's gonna be a huge fuckin problem, sweetcheeks.” Smooth music started to play at a moderate volume, and Tony gave a satisfied nod.

He had gone and replaced that ludicrous Toyota cassette deck with a completely new audio equipment set two weeks ago, as some sort of surprise gift. Bruce the killjoy had not bothered to acknowledge his efforts apart from a simple 'Uh-huh.' Said killjoy then looked at him. “I thought you were a trained professional.” A humorless set of white teeth bared itself at that, together with a snort.

"Listen up, cupcake: Over the past few years I've posed as a drug dealer, contract killer, residential burglar, degenerate gambler, international weapons dealer, and white-collar criminal." Tony held up a hand, fingers spread, to tick them off. He looked not as self-assured as his list might have let on and put his hand down to tap on the armrest instead. His boyfriend gave a minuscule tilt of the head.

“Your moral sense is...” His pause prompted Tony to jump in. “... unparalleled?” A reproachful glare. “Malleable at best.”

Dark-brown eyes narrowed. "No, it's not, cause I am not a sicko who goes infiltrating an organization professing sexual attraction to young boys. That's a big no-no in my book. Fuckin' pedos. I'd get physically sick by being in the same room within the first five minutes. Forget about talking me into this. I'm serious."

Bruce said nothing and re-gripped the wheel.

* * *

Later that night, after a more or less silent dinner, they settled in for the night. It was Tony who caved in first and sought out physical contact. As he began to nuzzle at Bruce's neck, the latter did not push him away but also did not return the ministrations. “Babe.” Tony's deep baritone was close to his ear. “I want you.”  He reinforced his fervent statement by scooting closer to Bruce's backside and letting him feel his need.  
  
“No.”

Together with his gruff rejection, Bruce shifted and turned until he was laying flat on his back. Tony huffed and propped his head up on a hand. “Stop moping just because I don't agree with you.” In the dark, Bruce clamped his mouth shut to avoid the first rude retort to slip from his tongue. “That's not what it is.” The mattress moved as Tony scrambled over to place himself right atop him until Bruce saw the white in his eyes.

“Then what is it?”

Wayne swallowed and let his gaze travel over to the small slit in between the curtains, catching a glimpse of the nighttime sky. As usual, the words inside his head did not want to transform into proper sentences, frustrating and angering him in equal shares. To divert from his inability, Bruce channeled his flaring temper and poured it into a rush of physical strength. Tony went along willingly, albeit with a small yelp.

When Bruce had him pinned face-down into the mattress he, too, was hard, even more so when Tony raised his hips ever so slightly to buck against his groin. “Fuck me.” It came out muffled and was a good reminder for Bruce to ease up on the vise-like grip around his lover's nape. One hand reached down to find Tony still aroused. Stark then pressed into his palm. “I want your dick any which way. C'mon now. Fuck me till I scream.”

It was the one thing Bruce was able to give him that night, speaking to him with his body instead of his voice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's t-shirt mentioned in the beginning is this one:  
> http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/jkqi/


	29. Chapter 29

Two days later, Tony was busy not writing the report Bruce had asked him to revise. Wayne flat out disliked his way of using informal language in written form, even more so than in spoken form. For a while, Tony kept on pretending to be working, until Bruce went to open the window and saw him browsing a site for home decor. "If you're already finished, you can type up my report as well." A stack of paper landed on his desk.  
  
After his boyfriend was off for a meeting with Jim Gordon, Tony shoved the file aside.  
"He's so gonna get that Meownt Rushmore pillow."  
The phone in the middle of their desk then rang and he snatched it with a swing of the swivel chair.

“Stark-Wayne Castle, what's your hassle?"

“... I told you not to answer the phone like that anymore, Agent.”

“I thought you told me not to say 'Drug-Buster Epicenter - if they crack 'em, we wreck 'em'?”

Fury's teeth could be heard grinding through the receiver.

“There is someone here to see you, Stark. My office in less than two.”

“Gotcha, DepDir, be with you in a sec.”

He arrived five minutes later, only to find Nick Fury nowhere in sight. His office was not empty, however. A silhouette occupied the visitor's seat, its back to the door. When Tony entered with a swift, jaunty stride, he all but froze in the doorway, doorknob still in hand. The silhouette then turned around. “Hi, Tony. Been a while.” Two rows of perfect teeth greeted him, paired with the bluest set of eyes he had ever come to know.  
  
“Steve, uh... yeah, it... has. Hi. Man, that's... hi!”  
  
The other special agent stood up and, force of habit, Tony went to embrace him in a brief, but tight hug. “What in everything that's holy are you doing here?” Rogers smiled. “I'm currently setting up a task force to facilitate investigative co-operations, intelligence sharing, and terrorist interdictions. It's 50-hour workweeks and 24-hour availability, but that's what you get for doing things the right way.”

Tony stopped staring at the way Steve's jaw worked and hurried to nod along. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, yeah. For sure.” Steve grinned gave a bashful sigh and rubbed his nape. “It's the beard, isn't it?” His ex-boyfriend tried to deny for the longest time until he comically dropped his head in shame. “What can I say? It looks weird on you. Only thing missing is an expensive flannel, et voila. Lumbersexual Steve.”

Rogers palmed his chin with a lopsided smirk and shook his head at the same time. “Still the same old loudmouth.” It was said without spite. “But you are looking good. Really.” Tony smirked and slightly puffed out his chest. “I'm doing good, maybe that's why.” Steve smiled at that and gestured at the door. “Care for lunch? I want to see if the meatball pasta is as bad as I remember it to be.”  
  
Nothing but sincerity lay in Steve's eyes. It prompted Tony to nod and laugh.

“Alright, let's be brave.”

* * *

When Bruce first came face to face with special agent Steven Grant Rogers, it was already 4 PM. He had been wondering about the whereabouts of his boyfriend ever since noon but was glad to get some important paperwork done undisturbed before calling it a day. When Tony stood in the doorway, accompanied by a tall, handsome blonde man, introductions were bound to be nothing but awkward.

Bruce shut down his whole face and demeanor in less than two seconds, leaving Tony to babble along. “... and so Steve's setting up a joint terrorism task force in DC.” To counter Bruce's stoic expression, Rogers nodded and looked at Tony. “We're still looking for special investigators and SWAT experts.” Wayne scanned him from his coiffed cowlick down to his neatly polished boots. “Not interested.”

Steve ever so slightly tilted his head and put his arms akimbo, putting even more emphasis on his broad, V-shaped torso. “Tony just told me otherwise.” Glimpsing at his former lover, Rogers then smirked. “Give me a call sometime the week. GS-15 and an ASAC cred are really worth thinking it over.”

Once the blonde was out of earshot, Stark hurried to catch up with his miffed lover. He caught him by the sleeve and at least managed to get him to slow down. “Hey, hey, hey now, don't gimme that mopey shit – all we did was talk.” A muscle in Bruce's jaw twitched. “Apparently you already made up your mind.” They were crossing the corridor in long strides, Bruce two steps ahead and Tony struggling to keep up.

“Just cause I didn't flat out refuse doesn't mean I said yes to anything. Ever heard of active listening?”  
His voice was a bit huffed, to which Wayne's cold, calculating eyes flew into his direction.  
“Stop choking on your alibi, Tony. You don't have to.”

At that, Stark stepped in front of him with an all but jump, put both hands on his chest, and stopped him. “I fucking _know_ that I don't have to – can I still explain?” Wayne gave a bored looking shrug. It betrayed the fact that his heart was hammering hard and fast underneath his suit, right against Tony's palms. “What for?” When Bruce then sidestepped him and headed for the exit, Tony was left to glare at his back.  
  
“Bruce Robert Wayne, don't you fucking dare to walk out on me now!”  
  
But he did. The glass door swooshed shut with a near soundless, automatic hiss. In one final try, Tony caught up with him at the parking lot where Bruce stood and fumbled with the once again non-functioning remote control of his Toyota, willing the doors to unlock. “It's a fucking big chance for me, don't you get it?” Wayne kept on punching the well-worn button and did not look at him. “I get it just fine. Your ex does, too.”

“Now wait a sec, I never said Steve was my ex!”

“Wasn't he?”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“You're far too easy to read for a special agent.”  
  
The pick-up finally unlocked with a little click and Bruce yanked the driver's door open. Tony wanted to reach out, but Wayne withdrew from his touch by slipping into the seat and slamming the door shut. “I think it's best if we don't work together anymore until then. Things have gotten too... complicated.” Stopping in mid-motion, arm still raised, Tony's eyes turned hard as granite. “Oo... kay. Sure. Fine with me.”

A nasty smirk then replaced the way his jaw had gone slack at Bruce's suggestion.  
“No hard feelings then, Gotham. See ya.”  
He turned and walked back inside before Bruce had left the parking lot.

That evening, Tony did not return to Bruce's apartment, and Bruce did not make a move to call him.

* * *

After a more or less sleepless night, a grumpy Gothamite entered the office the next morning to find that Tony had been quick to clear out all of his clutter. While it should not have been irritating to look at the empty desk in front, the silence soon became too much. The little radio on the shelf which had been droning on in the background all the time was also gone.

“Wayne? Wayne!”  
  
Bruce removed his earplugs from where he had listened to a GCN podcast on his phone. Jim Gordon stood in the doorway, looking at him with an almost pitiful tug around his mustache. “Come to my office, I'd like to introduce you to someone who is going to work on the Gotham case.”

Two long, slim legs in black pantyhose and a pair of stilettos were the first thing his eyes fell upon as he entered the room. They belonged to a slender woman of extraordinary beauty in her early thirties, with delicate facial features, a black pixie cut, and large green eyes that were sizing him up with curiosity.

“Agent Wayne, meet Agent Kyle. She's also from Gotham City.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the credit:  
> https://www.vat19.com/item/meownt-rushmore-pillow
> 
> ASAC = Assistant Special Agent in Charge


	30. Chapter 30

Unfolding her legs with grace, the young woman got up to shake his hand. Her meticulously painted red lips spread to reveal a set of white teeth. Out of instinct, Bruce found himself returning her smile. “Good to know the city is capable of producing more decent beings than me or the Deputy Chief.” Gordon pulled a face and it prompted the woman to laugh. Her voice was deeper than her slim appearance led to assume.

“Thanks... I think.”  
Their gazes lingered upon each other for a trifle longer than necessary, then the young woman tilted her head.  
“I'm Selina.”  
  
Part of him wondered what was wrong with him being unable to stop smiling.  
“Bruce.”  
Watching the exchange without any reaction, Deputy Chief Gordon eventually cleared his throat.  
  
“Agent Kyle, if you would briefly excuse us...”  
She gave a feline smile.  
“Of course.”

Both men looked after her as she left the office. Then Jim Gordon cleared his throat. “Don't be fooled. Agent Kyle’s most apparent asset is her outward appearance, but she possesses a tremendous IQ. Top of her class, black belt Taekwondo.” Bruce focused back on his superior, facade calm and professional. "Are you sure you should bring her into this particular case?” Gordon's glasses flashed in the neon light from above.  
  
“It's not her I'm worried about, Wayne.”

* * *

The moment Tony saw Bruce getting out of the Bureau's front entrance, he waited inside his Golf GTI after arriving at the parking lot.

His heart did its usual flip at the dashing way Wayne looked in one of his many fine, dark-gray business suits, white shirt, and dark tie. Tony's eyes lingered on his clean-shaven face and the way Bruce's hair was coiffed into a smart side part. They then narrowed when the Gothamite proceeded to hold the door open for a beautiful, tall woman who was dressed in an all-black ensemble of a short dress, coat, and high heels.

The two started heading towards a shiny black Porsche Cayenne parked a few feet away, engrossed in a conversation. Tony's hands gripped the steering wheel tight as he saw Bruce laughing at something the woman had said, right before he walked up to open the driver's door for her until she sat inside. After Wayne had slipped into the passenger seat, the Porsche had left the parking lot with a mighty roar of its engine.

Tony forced himself to blink and to stop staring at the spot the luxury SUV had vacated. Before he headed inside, he fished out his mobile.

 _Just made up my mind. Count me in. Better make sure Washington's worth a visit._  
Steve's answer came just as quick.  
_G_ _reat! I'm looking forward to working with you again! Oh, and sightseeing is already penciled in :)_

* * *

The Toyota stood in the same spot for the past 50 minutes, headlights turned off.

From time to time, its owner was forced to turn on the engine to use the windshield wipers against the slight sheen of rain that obscured his view. Whenever Bruce discovered he just could not find sleep, he would drive out to pass the posh mansion high up at Point Dume. There never was any light, which either meant Tony was sleeping like normal people did at 3 AM, or that he was not residing at the place anymore.

Part of Bruce had expected to see Steve Rogers around, giving him a very valid reason to give into his very first instinct and punch the man in the face. Maybe, Bruce pondered, Tony was already staying over at Rogers' place, and it was that train of thought that almost made his blood boil. He knew he was being more than pathetic after being the one who called it quits, but could not help himself.

They had not spoken to each other ever since the break-up. The Bureau was big enough for them to avoid running into each other, even if sometimes they would see each other from a distance. While it was Tony who stared at him whenever he thought Bruce was not looking, Wayne soon found himself risking a glimpse at the way Tony dallied around with Pepper Potts or Happy Hogan; deliberately ignoring him.

Selina proved to be a valuable source of distraction with her cheerful way of making small talk to counter his own, taciturn self. Their bond over being from the same city helped a lot in getting to know each other better while also going into the first forays of talking their undercover mission through. The station started playing an old Richard Marx song just then, and Bruce turned off the radio with a resolute flick of his wrist.  
  
A glimpse at the clock told him it was already 4:18 AM, so he turned the keys and brought the Toyota back onto the PCH.

Driving back home, his eyes flew up to a huge billboard from the New York Times.

* * *

“... so I'll be moving to South Philly by the end of this month. Finally getting out of here, I cannot stand rehab any day longer.”  
  
James Rhodes' voice sounded upbeat and energetic, forcing his best friend to try for a cheerful reply. “Yeah, that's real neat, platypus.” At the dejected tone, James eventually had enough. “Okay, what is it, Tones?” Another huge sigh over the line. “Bruce's got a new partner. Remember I told you about Steve's visit? Yeah, somehow that escalated quickly, and we kinda... un-partnered.” James Rhodes was silent for a few moments.

“Wha... I mean... I thought you guys were... exclusive? Who is it? Do we know him?”

“Depends on your point of view, he's a she, and no we don't. Her license plate told me she's Selina Kyle from the CID*.”  
Tony's voice held a tinge of spite. His friend made a few clicking sounds with his tongue.  
“So you have nothing to fear. Just tell him you're not into Steve anymore and fix this mess.”

At that, Stark harrumphed. “May I just remind you Brucie's a swinging door? Also, better believe me when I tell you that Kyle woman is fucking gorgeous. Nuff said.” His try for humor might have been crude, up to the point of downright cynical, but deep down inside, Tony was hurting. When he fell silent, Rhodes decided to push the conversation into another direction. “Are you going to stay at Steve's place in Washington?”

“Nah. He said he got me a nice, ready-furnished little condo close to the Triskelion.”

“So you finally moved out of your Malibu mansion.”

“If anything, it should be Stark Mansion, and no, the official moving deadline is the day after tomorrow.”

“Getting used to not living in that palace anymore will work wonders for your spirit. All this fancy-schmancy stuff's been messing with your head, man, I tell you. Oh, by the way - please remember to clean our old basement before you head to DC. There's a lot of crap from you in there still. Engine parts and whatnot. The new tenants said they wanted to get in before the end of the month.”

“I... gotta, yeah. Listen, I have to hurry now. Later, platypus.”

When he returned to the mansion later that evening, the movers were almost done wrapping and stuffing the expensive, rented furniture into their U-Haul. Snatching the mail from a pile next to the main door, Tony stepped aside as they carried away the designer couch and modern art paintings. Dejected, he threw most of the brochures into a trash bag filled with paper stuffing, until one envelope remained in his hand.

It had only his first name on it and carried no stamp whatsoever.  
Curious, Tony ripped it open and glimpsed at the recent copy of a NY Times flipped open at the Personals section.  
There was an ad circled with a red pen, and Tony inhaled sharply.

_'For Sale: 1 soul, stained; 1 mind, dirty; and 1 conscience, never used'_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CID = The Criminal Investigative Division (within the Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch of the FBI)  
> source: Wikipedia


	31. Chapter 31

With a grunt, Bruce dropped the file he was reading and rubbed at his tired eyes. Instead of picking it back up, he cast a grim glance out to where it had started to rain against the old, wooden window frames of his apartment. He reached out to switch on a nearby lamp that stood on a forlorn pile of books on the floor, sunk deeper into the sofa, and tried to focus once again on the folder.

Rapping on the door made him crane his neck before he glimpsed at his watch with a disdained tug around the mouth. Bruce figured it might be his neighbor Alfred Pennyworth who seemed to have taken him in as an adopted son of sorts, always bringing along some delicious leftovers from dinner. After deeming it impolite to fake not being in, despite the lights, he got off the couch and headed for the door.

Outside stood Tony Stark, shoulders hunched and head dripping wet.

Wordlessly he held up a sodden newspaper, and that was when Bruce stepped aside and let him in. Stark threw the paper on a nearby sideboard with a sloshing sound and slipped out of his jacket and shoes. “I could sue for plagiarism, you know?” As he stood and shook the water out of his damp locks like a dog, Bruce watched him with a wary eye before he made a sarcastic sweep around the small apartment.

“Good luck with that.”

Stark tsked as he looked around. “Still no herb garden.” Wayne followed his gaze over to his bare kitchenette. “You know damn well I don't cook.” Tony sighed, more than weary that time. “How 'bout we both admit we aren’t sorry.” It was then that Bruce advanced on him, lifted him off his feet and pressed him into the nearby wall. Their mouths collided a second later; Bruce's hands cupping his denim-clad rear.

Tony wormed his legs around his waist, drawing him close. After a few minutes, they separated, breathless.  
  
“Bedroom.”

Feeling Tony's warm, panted breath on his face, Bruce only managed a nod, dizzy with desire. He carried him all the way over to the bed until they stumbled and landed on the comforter. His hands groped for sodden zippers and buttons in the dark while Tony's heady voice spurred his actions on. The lube and the condoms were still in their usual spot, and when Tony spread his legs, Bruce did not need any further invitation.

He fucked him with a raw intensity that made the bed bang against the wall; only drowned out by the wanton grunts of Tony who encouraged him to go faster and harder. It did not take long until Bruce came with a drawn out groan, and for Tony to follow him with an equal vocalization. With Wayne slumped over him like a dead weight, they lay in sated silence and listened to the rain pelting on the roof.

“Why is it that make up sex is always so fucking great?”

Tony's voice prompted Wayne to pop an eye open and look at him. “Do you want to keep on finding out?” As he spoke he disentangled and sloppily cleaned them up. Afterward, Stark moved to curl up against his lover's broad chest. “Fuck no, I...” Tony's hand reached out and his fingers ran along the small white scar on Bruce's clavicle where he had been nicked by a stray bullet during their last case.

“... I wanted to tell you that whatever there was with Steve is in the past, and we – this is my future, B, okay? I want this. I want us.” A guarded glance. “Sure?” Tony frowned. “Why d'you keep on doubting.. and before you play the guilty card- what about Selina Kyle?” Wayne pursed his lips with a peevish look. “What about Washington?” At his snappish retort, Tony drew his hand back with a sigh and slid deeper under the sheets.

For a while, he stared at the strange patterns on the ceiling from a neon sign outside. When his eyes traveled back to Bruce they rested within doubtful ones. “I gotta do this, babe. Steve or not, this is an opportunity I have to take. It's only a month. Hey, I'll be back before you know it. And in the meantime, there's phone sex, Skype sex, and whatnot.” He wiggled until he was able to straddle his taller lover.

“By the way, I'm so fucking jealous. Of her. Of her being close to you when I'm not around.” At the confession close to his ear, something inside Bruce's heart swelled with a for him unidentifiable emotion. On the outside, he simply curled his lips. “I want to punch Rogers in the face if it makes you feel better.” Tony chuckled and shook his head softly, his still damp hair tickling Bruce's skin. “Man, we're so pathetic.”

Wayne had no reply to that, so Stark slid off him and nestled into the crook of his arm. His free hand became busy tracing patterns onto Bruce's bare torso, from his bellybutton to his pecs and back. “Let's go get a bigger apartment after I come back. I've been rooming together with Rhodey before the accident, so I need a new crib anyhow. He wants to move in with his family after getting out of rehab.”

From where Bruce had followed his ministrations with his eyes, they slid sideways to glimpse at the man in his arm. “... Okay.” The quiet, single word sounded like a question. Tony felt a sudden rush of blood heading right for his cheeks and was glad for the semi-darkness. “Or... not, I mean, uh... no rush, really. Just, yeah. I'd be game. Whatever you think is best. If you don't wanna go pull up stakes and return to Gotham, that is.”

For a split second, Wayne's body froze. “What makes you think that?” Unsure about the sudden shift, Tony tried to put his theory into flippant words. “Well, I thought that what it's all about. Endgame hometown so to speak. Ace the job and get promoted.” Silence once again. Tony strained to look at his lover, but due to the shadows all over the bedroom, he only saw one-half of Bruce's face.

“I quit Princeton after a few semesters of studying for a B.S.E degree I never really wanted to obtain. My father was furious, my mother disappointed. So I went and pushed things further by enlisting with the 75th Ranger Regiment.” Tony listened to the quiet voice with awed reverence. It was the first time Wayne had ever attempted to speak voluntarily about his past.

“After a year of serving, I got notice from my hometown stating that my parents had been shot in a mugging out on the streets at night. I quit my duty, returned to the States and got with the FBI.” Throat constricted, Tony attempted to swallow. “Hence the going-for-no-lethal-shots during the case.” A strained smirk, or something in the like. “Maybe.” All solemn, Bruce then fixated his lover's warm gaze.

“That's why I cannot let this case slide. I have abandoned my past in Gotham, I can't abandon its future.”

A feeling of sadness caused the man by his side to mull over the meaning behind his statement. “So you are planning on going back for good.” Wayne moved and reversed their positions with a strong shift. “The city's future isn't my future. There's nothing for me to do there, except for chasing down demons. Chasing and hunting them down. At all costs.”

Trapped underneath his solid body, Tony went slack and glimpsed up at his somber countenance. “I should stay here then. By your side.” Bruce's face darkened. “That's not why I told you. No pity party between us. Not now, not ever. Remember?” Looking unconvinced, Stark frowned. “I know, but... should I... stay or should I go? My indecision's bad when I have to quote The Clash, ya hear?!”  
  
Thankful for his try for comedy relief, albeit halfhearted, Bruce kissed the doubts off his lips.

“You should go.”

* * *

Wayne drove him to the airport two days later.

He kissed him ferociously one last time before they headed for the terminal, and waited until he lost sight of the blue baseball hat in the crowd.

Once he was back in his quiet apartment, Bruce forced himself to stop pacing the room and picked up the phone.

“Sir? I am ready. Send me the UC data you've got.”

 


	32. Chapter 32

“You're late.”  
  
Shoulders wet from sprinting through the rain, Tony bumped his shin against the chrome leg of Steve's desk. He threw himself into the chair opposite of him, took off his baseball hat, and rubbed his leg with a grumpy murmur. “Why didn't you tell me you start working before 8? I would've come in earlier, too.” Two blue eyes flew over to him, a hint of superior reproach in them.

“It's 8:30 and I called you. Twice. Your phone's switched off.”  
Tony fished the item in question from his pocket and saw the black screen.  
“Ah, I forgot to charge it last night, sorry. That's why I didn't hear the alarm going off, too.”

Remembering the previous night he and Bruce had spent sexting until he fell asleep, Tony fought hard to keep the leering expression down. Steve threw him another, now more lenient glance and went back to typing on his laptop. “No worries. Now, can you go onto the automated system for me and see if there's any new leads assigned?”

After Tony had been busy filing surveillance logs, typing up meeting notes and highlighting anything of remote interest in them, Steve left him for an on-site appointment he himself sadly had no clearance to. “I'll be back in two hours. Just have all documents initialed and pass them to the admins for upload.”  
  
The smile on Tony's face became diffuse.

“Sure thing, Steve-O. Later.”

The big office with its many employees who were swarming and bustling about swallowed Rogers' tall silhouette with ease. Left at their desk in the far corner, Tony stole a glimpse at the sliver of a window he could see from his spot. It was still raining. A blonde officer walked past and put a pile of documents on his table. They smiled at each other before she left without a word. Tony opened the file on top and grabbed a pen.  
  
He had never felt more alone.

* * *

The soft _clickclickclick_ of Selina's manicured nails on the keyboard filled the silence at the Operational Technology Division. Ever so often she paused her parsing activities to take a sip from her steaming mug of ginger tea and watch the activities in front of her unfold with keen interest.

Wayne and Kyle had taken up refuge at Lucius Fox' miracle lab to be prepped with the most advanced technological support for the upcoming undercover mission. Right now, shirtless Agent Wayne stood on a platform, arms spread wide, and glimpsed down to where Fox was busy testing out the fit of a small surveillance device in the form of a pulse monitor chest strap.

Bruce would wear the tracker in combination with a fitness wristband, to dispel any possible suspicion should the chest strap be discovered. “Okay Mister Wayne, try it out. The microphone is able to record anything at a distance of 50 feet, but make sure to minimize background noises.” Bruce nodded and looked up at the sound of approaching stilettos. Pepper Potts walked in and handed Fox an USB flash drive.

“Perfect. Thank you, Pepper.”  
She nodded and turned her attention towards the person on the platform.  
“Hi, Bruce.”  
  
He responded with an awkward little wave, still trapped in his Da Vinci golden-ratio-lookalike position.  
“Hi.”  
Potts' clear blue eyes flew over to give Selina a once-over, and the women shared a noncommittal smile.  
  
“Well, I don't want to keep you guys from working. Have fun.”  
Wayne's arms dropped to his sides as he stared after her, lost in thought.  
The cleared throat of Fox brought him back into the present.  
  
“Raise your arms again for me, Bruce?”  
Swallowing at the sly pair of green eyes in the back watching his half-naked performance, Wayne nodded.  
“Uh-huh.”

* * *

“So tell me - are you seeing someone?”  
  
All emphatic, Tony nodded. Day four had Steve and him going out for lunch, and Tony had been allowed to pick and choose. He had decided on a small but very crowded Chinese restaurant close to the office. It ultimately forced Steve to relent to using a fork while Tony wielded his chopsticks around with an air of breeziness and expertise.  
  
“Someone from the bureau?”  
Another nod from Tony, this time with a mouth full of noodles. Steve paused, frowned, and looked at him closely.  
“Don't tell me you're dating your partner – what was his name... Brad Wheeler?”

“ _Bruce Wayne._ But yes, we're dating."  
  
Steve nodded and went back to devouring his huge pile of chow mein. Tony clicked his chopsticks in the air and jabbed them into his direction. “What's with that slight bit of disapproval there, Rogers? You've got a bad poker face, buddy.” Slurping up the latest bite, Steve reached for his napkin to dab at his mouth. “Nothing, I mean I have only met him briefly, but...” Tony's eyes narrowed.  
  
“Yes. And...?”  
Steve paused, looking for words. Eventually, he put his fork aside and reached for his soda.  
“It seems to me like you're able to do better, that's all. But what do I know.”

The chopsticks clattered against the porcelain bowl as Tony dropped them and leaned over the table. “Yes, what do you know after dumping me in favor of _youknowverywellwho._ ” His voice had risen slightly. All embarrassed, Steve looked at two people from the nearby table who glimpsed into their direction until they went back to their food. “I'm sorry, Tony, but... he's my friend. It just happened over the course of the years.”  
  
Stark sat back and picked up his eating utensils again.  
“See? I'm trying this concept myself now. The couple that shoots together stays together or somethin.”  
Cautious relief spread out over Steve's even features.  
  
“Just know that I'm rooting for you, okay?”

* * *

“Still looks and smells as rotten as I remember it.”  
  
Lost in thought, Bruce looked up at Selina's deep voice.  
He, too, inspected their surroundings and gave a grim nod.  
“Gotham never disappoints.”  
  
They had arrived late in the evening and checked into a hotel close to the city center. Bruce had received an official invitation to an upcoming get-together event of the organization on the following Saturday. So far, he only had been in touch with them via mail; their texts kept so short and nondescript that nothing was really pointing out the true, disgusting motives behind it.

After heading off to their respective rooms, Bruce left his suitcase packed and only took the bag of toiletries into the mini bathroom. The shower stall was just big enough for him to stand inside, least of all attempt to turn around. The fan sprang to life with an annoyingly loud hum, so Bruce switched off the light. He threw himself onto the bed, took out his phone and pulled up Tony's and his latest conversation.  
  
_It's raining the whole time :((_

_Same here._

_Some shit. I vote for a vacay to Maui or Bali :D_

_On your paycheck: Yes_

_Miss you <3_

_Ditto_

_So romantic ;P_

_Stop it with the smileys_

_They're called emoticons, loserface xD_  
  
A knock on his hotel door interrupted Bruce from typing an answer. He scrambled off the bed and opened up. Outside stood Selina, dressed as always in black, but instead of high heels and a skirt, she wore skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she smiled.

“I am going for a drink down at the bar, in the mood to join me?”  
Bruce ran a hand through his hair and forced his body into a small yawn.  
“No, thanks, think I'll turn in early tonight.”

As soon as she was gone, he grabbed his mobile from the blanket.

_I remember you liking my loserface to go down on you_

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuu :O :O :O_

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've been struggling with this more than I thought at first. The topic is precarious, so I cannot and will not delve into it too much. Still, I don't want anyone to feel triggered, so please read/proceed at your own risk.

Bruce aka Tim Perkins stood in front of the Gotham conference center and tried to appear all suave.

His mission was simple. Get into the organization as a potential boy-lover, gain criminal admissions from its members during their regular meet-ups, and use these to lead successful federal prosecutions. Selina Kyle had been taking over the diligence part of the job, which was getting in touch with the right people. With her help and background work, Bruce had been able to get into the scene.

Tim Perkins had become a paying member of the organization and was now invited to his very first convention. Wayne adjusted his pair of fake glasses one more time and took one more step to which the glass sliding doors whooshed open and swallowed him. Inside, it looked like a mini convention of some sort. There were two stands with dubious reading material on display, plus a makeshift bar that sold overpriced drinks.

He was handed a name badge after getting registered at a table with two elderly males and nodded a few greetings into a group of middle-aged men. One of them broke from the circle to come his way and extended a hand. “Hello, Tim. Glad you were able to make it today. Welcome to the convention.” His name tag read Daniel, and Bruce figured he was the initiator of the whole event and the person he had been emailing with.

“Thanks, Daniel, I'm very excited to be here today.” For a while, Bruce aka Tim then meandered through the sparsely populated exhibition hall. Thanks to the ugly orange-red carpet that served as noise reduction, he was able to record some compromising evidence. At some point, just when he considered he was done, Daniel and he crossed paths again. “Well? How do you like it, Tim?” The latter adjusted his glasses and smiled.

It's nice, but I had expected there to be more active participation.”  
Daniel's face became quizzical.  
“Let me see what I can do for you in that regard.”

A young boy was led towards them. He was lean and of medium height, had black, straight hair that hung all over his forehead and a terrified look on his face. “Do you like him, Tim? His name is Richard, but everybody keeps on calling him Dick.” Daniel smiled a disgusting smile, which Bruce returned. “He's a fine looking fellow indeed.” At that, Daniel then pushed the boy forward into Bruce's direction.  
  
“Feel free to have a more private talk with Dick upstairs.”

Tim Perkins swallowed, once, then inclined his head in a favorable manner. “I'd like that.” They were led away from the convention, up the stairs into what Bruce discovered was a makeshift bedroom. As soon as the door had clicked shut, the boy named Richard put the bed in between them. “Please, Sir, I don't... I have never done anything like this, and...” Wiping down his face, Bruce drew in a huge breath and exhaled.

“Don't worry, nothing will happen. You're safe with me.” Richard stared at him like he was unsure if it was a trick. Bruce moved with slow, deliberate steps to sit on the far edge of the mattress to be at eye level with the scared young boy and spread his arms. “I promise I won't harm you, but you have to trust me. I am going to make sure you stay safe, okay?” Richard's frantic blue eyes darted all over his face.  
  
Eventually, he dared to give a cautious nod.  
“... okay.”  
Bruce held his gaze and nodded as well.  
  
“Can you tell me more about how you got here?”

* * *

Half an hour later, it knocked on the door.  
“Come in.”  
Bruce looked up from where he had been pretending to fasten his shoelaces.

“The room is needed.”  
Tim Perkins nodded and stood up, looking at the two big men in the doorway.  
“We're just done here.”

Bruce wore a very satisfied expression that Daniel's supposed henchmen misunderstood entirely. He had next to a full confession from Richard on his microphone, after he had made sure the room was not wire-tapped. While Richard took off with one man, Bruce was shown the way back down into the auditorium. About to get his coat and leave, he was approached by an eager looking Daniel.

“Tim, there you are! Come have a drink with us.”  
Having no other choice, Bruce allowed him to steer him over to the far end of the bar.  
“What can I get you? Beer? Whiskey? Soda?”

“A soda would be nice, thanks.”

“Oh my, look at that. Another fine young man who really looks out for himself. Healthy, healthy.”

“Yeah, well, I need to watch my diet. No liquid calories and such.”

All sympathetic, Daniel nodded and signaled the bartender before he focused back on Bruce. “Are you working out a lot?” Daniel pointed at the wristband. Bruce nodded. “Running and weight lifting.” The elder man squinted and smiled at the same time as he leaned forward on crossed arms. “To good health then.” They toasted each other, with Daniel sipping from his amber-colored liquid and Bruce gulping down the seltzer.

His dry throat relinquished the water; he had been sweating for the past hours. As soon as the glass was empty, Daniel's voice rose him out of his line of thoughts. “So how did it go with Dick?” He wore a faint, leering expression. Bruce forced a semi-disappointed look on his face and shrugged. “We didn't really click, but that's okay.” His heart started racing, but he ignored it.

“Really? Oh, I am sorry. Dick's not been with us for long. He's very young and impulsive, but with the right man by his side, I'm sure this will pass eventually.” Sweat began to prickle on Bruce's temples, and he fought down an urge to vomit. With everything reeling around him, he grabbed the bar for support. “I'm sorry, I... don't feel so good, I think I need to go home now.” He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked several times.

Daniel put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “My, you do look a bit pale around the nose, Tim. Just relax and breathe slowly. It's the air in here – stifling hot, isn't it?” Fingers began to roam along Bruce's chest and flipped the first two buttons of his shirt open. Bruce struggled to tear away, to which Daniel's grip became stronger. “I am just trying to help you to get a little more air. Take it easy.”

The words seemed to blend into one huge mumble. As his vision swam, Bruce nevertheless made an attempt at getting up. He did not get far before everything around him went black. As he lay slumped over the counter, Daniel snapped his fingers at two men. “Let's get Tim here a little more comfortable.” His knobbly, weathered hand brushed upon a small, bony shoulder as he followed his men upstairs.

“It was the right thing to tell me, Richard.”

* * *

The first two times Tony called and only had the answering machine, he did not think much of it.

He left a slightly lewd message upon his second call and headed back to work. Immersed in his paperwork, he noticed Bruce had not called him back or send him a message late that night when he was at his hotel. Tired from doing nothing but research and observation prep the whole day, he put the phone to his ear. His call did not spring to voicemail but got picked up after another four rings.

Tony frowned at the strange cracking sounds over the line.  
“Hello? Bruce?”  
He heard a breath.  
  
“This is Selina, who's there?”  
Tony's frown increased, as did his jealousy.  
“Why are you answering his phone? Where's Bruce?”

“Your call has been forwarded to my phone. Who are you?”

“I'm Tony Stark. Special Agent Tony Stark. I'm Bruce's partner.”

He left the duality of his statement to linger in the open. Selina took a few heartbeats until she spoke.

“Agent Wayne is MIA as of Sunday. We are currently working on getting to know his whereabouts.”

Agent Stark heard her voice as if she was speaking through cotton wool. He came back to reality when Agent Kyle kept on repeating his name.  
  
“Is he still alive?”  
Tony's voice was devoid of any emotion. On the other end, Selina heaved a shuddering sigh.  
“We don't know.”  
  
  



	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where I would kindly advise to please mind the tags before reading. There is nothing graphic, but it may contain sensitive/triggering situations or mental images. Thank you.

In the face of danger, Tony was quick to explain the situation to Steve and book a flight to Gotham City. He also managed to get over his aversion for the female agent enough to agree meeting up with Kyle in a part of town called East End; a bad neighborhood laden with poverty and crime.

Sitting in the back of a rundown little diner, Selina kept her palms away from the greasy tabletop and tried not squirm on the thick-covered, pleather bench seat that had been slashed with a knife in various spots. She looked up when the little bell over the door jingled and a man of medium height strode in. He wore a pair of shades despite the late hour, blue denim, a black leather jacket, and a downright grim expression.

Without hesitation, Stark crossed the distance and dropped into the opposite bench seat. Selina raised her left eyebrow which prompted him to shed his sunglasses. “Charming place for a first date.” His voice was sonorous, but there was open hostility shining at her through large brown eyes. Selina curled her lip in faint amusement. “Prostitution and the circulation of illegal drugs and weapons are a real turn on, or so I've been told.”

Tony's face hardened. “Right to the chase. Any news?” Selina shook her head. “He has been at the convention center before the connection got cut. When I didn't hear back from him within the supposed time frame, I went to check it out, but to no avail.” A man in his mid-fifties with a small writing block approached them and Tony signaled his wish for a black coffee.

Upon the waiter's expectant look, Selina shook her head and cupped her half full glass of water. When a steaming mug stood in front of him minutes later, Tony took a careful first slurp, only to pull a face and put the cup aside. “Okay, but what's your exfil on this case? Bruce is a pro, he'd never go UC without proper exfil.” Selina's green eyes narrowed with something akin to honest vexation.

“Don't lecture me on military procedures. Everything was going according to protocol, it was a simple mission.”  
He leaned over the table, unmindful of the dried up ketchup specks on it, and cast her a look full of seething rage.  
“With my partner's gone MIA in the hands of fucked up pedos, I'd say screw you and your protocol!”

The doorbell jingled again. Both agents looked up to see an adolescent blonde woman with messy buns. She wore ripped fishnet stockings with heavy boots and kept on tugging an oversized jeans jacket close around her frame as she approached their table. Selina frowned. “Holly, what are you doing here?” The girl gave Tony a look full of mistrust which he returned before she focused back on the other woman.  
  
“I know you said not to contact you during work, but I've found this in my mailbox earlier on.”  
  
A coin envelope simply labeled 'Selina' appeared from under her jacket. Selina took it without hesitation, to which Tony narrowed his eyes. “Who delivers stuff to your friend's apartment for you? Have it scanned first. Could be Anthrax or worse.” She slipped an index finger in between the seal flap and tore it open. “She's my former roommate and I'd recognize Jason's handwriting anywhere.”

“Jason?”

“Acquaintance of mine. Loves to go around stealing hubcaps, tires, or the whole car if he likes it.”

“What a lovely dysfunctional clique you've got there.”

His acerbic tone fell upon deaf ears as Selina fastened her eyes onto the small item in the envelope. Tony watched her curl her fingers around a small black device hanging from some sort of strap or belt. “Can you tell me what the heck is going on?” Instead of an answer, Selina read the little note that came with the device. When she looked up, there was something between hope and apprehension in her gaze.

“Jason's been in touch with someone who's last seen Bruce!”

Lightning-fast, Tony reached out to snatch the note from her hands and skimmed over the short text. Once he was done, he all but threw the paper back over to where Selina glowered at his audacity. “Two SWAT teams, enhanced. Medics on site, too. Have them ready and in position at Crown Point in two hours.” He was already up and reaching inside his jacket for his phone. She grimaced.

“Deputy Chief Gordon will not...”  
Looming over her, Tony expression turned nothing short of postal.  
“I'm taking over now, and I don't give a rat's ass about what Gordon thinks or not!”

Wordless, both Selina and Holly watched how he stormed off, punching the diner's door open with force and a loud bang on his way out. Holly then glimpsed from the door back to her strained looking friend. “He's an asshole.” Reaching for her purse and wallet, Selina got up in a graceful move and slipped a $ 20 bill on the table. “No, he's just sick with worry.”

* * *

Bruce came to his senses with a sharp pang of pain and a woozy feeling like his head was wrapped in cotton. His mouth was dry, tongue stuck to the roof, and there was a foul taste of something synthetic on his glands. He could not manage to swallow properly because of a makeshift gag in between his lips that felt like fabric. Trying to curl up and pull his legs closer to his body elicited a low moan, and he stopped moving.

After gathering his bearings again, he let his eyes roam around. He was shackled to a bed, the sheets around him sticky and stale, and it took him a good five seconds to realize he was not wearing anything except his torn up button down shirt that reeked of sweat and something sickly sweet. Angry shouts from outside then reached his ears, and Bruce made another attempt at trying to cover up his part-nudity.

The handcuffs were too short to reach from the bedpost to his legs, however, and he almost cried from the renewed pain his shuffling movements caused deep down in his abdomen. When the door broke with a sickening crunch, Bruce covered his face behind shackled palms. Once he took them away, he saw Tony standing in the doorway, behind him the movement of at least a dozen, black-clad SWAT team members.

Their eyes met, and the feral look on Stark's face began to lessen. Something like pained relief replaced the frenzy, and Tony was quick to walk over to him in long strides. His dark brown eyes shone with barely contained tears as he knelt down in front of the bed to be at eye level with Bruce. Once he had carefully removed the gag from his mouth, Tony attempted a smile. “Got you.” His voice was thick with emotion.

Jaw numb, Wayne clamped his mouth shut and exhaled through chapped, cracked lips. While he pondered the fact that he had been gagged with his own tie, a pair of pliers had appeared in Tony's hand out of nowhere, snapping the metal connection between the shackles and the bedpost with a sharp ping. “Let's get you out of this joint.” Tony shrugged off his jacket and was about to drape it over his lover when he saw the blood.

Encrusted and fresh alike, it was drenching the old, dirty mattress all around Wayne's exposed body. “Oh fuck, oh FUCK... Hey! We need a medic in here! QUICK!” Agent Stark's shout was tinged with fear, rising in volume. It prompted Bruce to try and pull himself to his feet. “N-no, I... I can make it.” His voice was coarse. He swayed the instant he was in vertical, hands reaching for the wall before he crumbled with a pain-filled cry.

Warm, sturdy hands were on him, holding him in place while putting the jacket around his lower body. “Shh, it’s okay, stop trying to move.” The barely disguised tremor in Tony's voice was a whisper, albeit commanding. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? It's gonna be fine.” At the way Bruce's eyes started to slip shut, however, Tony became frantic. “Nonono! Stay with me, babe, d'you hear me? Stay awake!”

Bruce murmured something that sounded like his name, right before his eyes rolled back in his head.

* * *

“I have some good and some bad news.”  
  
Tony snapped his burning eyes open and tilted his tired head back from where it had leaned against the cold hospital waiting room wall. He squinted up at the silhouette of a white-clad person while scrambling into a standing position and brushing at his hair and rumpled clothes.

“Good news first.”

Doctor Leslie Thompkins, an FBI physician trained in emergency medicine, looked at the clipboard in her hand. “There will be no permanent damage to his injuries. His vitals are stabilizing by the hour, seeing the body is actively fighting the heavy dosages of Flunitrazepam we found in his bloodstream.”

“Fluni... what?”

“It's better known as Rohypnol... or roofies if you will.”  
Stark let the doctor's words sink in. Then he frowned.  
“Fucking bastards roofied him? For what?”  
  
At that, the doctor adjusted her steel-framed glasses.  
“That is where the bad news come into play.”  
Tony heaved a deep breath.  
  
“Tell me.”

“I am afraid this is confidential information, Sir. I am obliged to speak to his next of kin only.”

“That would be me. I am his... we have a... a domestic partnership agreement.” Tony knew he was stretching the truth wider than Bruce would maybe want him to. At present, however, Doctor Thompkins seemed to be buying it. She beckoned him over into a small room and closed the door behind them. More than anxious, Tony started digging his fingernails into his palms until they hurt.  
  
“What is it?”  
The elder woman waited until his eyes were locked on hers.  
“Agent Wayne has been raped.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

Bruce heard a lot of different noises, but more like through a long corridor full of echoes.

There was nothing he could really make out or identify at first. There were some steady sounds as well; not just of the electronic kind but sounds like wheels on linoleum, soft dripping noises, or the distant murmur of voices. He felt as if he were floating, without any connections to space and time. Part of him wondered why that did not make him feel uncomfortable after he usually hated any loss of control whatsoever.

Through the haze of his jumbled thoughts and dreams, a single one then manifested itself and stood out bright above them all.

_'Tony. Needs. To know. I'm okay.'_

Bruce clawed himself back to a state of semi-consciousness, repeating his inner monolog like a fiery mantra. His first two attempts at getting his eyelids to comply were unsuccessful, but the third brought some blurred shapes of a bright white room. Next to his bedside, someone sat, face hidden inside a palm. After a few moments that felt like an eternity to Bruce, he realized who the other man was.

He also realized how said man was weeping soundlessly, unmindful of being watched. Stupefied, Wayne regarded Tony Stark through half-lidded eyes for a few heartbeats until he hummed out an audible breath. Instantly, Tony's head to shoot up. Relief flooded his drawn features and he attempted a bravado smile while wiping down wet cheeks. “Hey, babe.” It sounded scratchy. Bruce tried to return the smile.

“When did I...?” His voice was a whisper. With eyes red-rimmed, Tony leaned in and took one of his hands. “Four days ago. You've undergone an emergent operative intervention, but everything is good now. Well, not good, but you're making steady progress. No complications, no infections, nothing big to... worry about.” Despite beating around the bush, Bruce understood what Tony was telling-but-not-telling him.

_'No HIV.'_

“Uh-huh.”

It must have been the massive amount of atypical confusion and helplessness in Bruce's whole appearance that made Tony drop his forehead onto the back of his lover's hand. “If only I had known... I'm sorry for not being here earlier, I would've...” His lashes were damp against Bruce's skin. “Could've done n... nothing.” Tony's thumb kept on brushing over his fingers in gentle circles. The smile on his face was a heartbroken one.

“I almost bought a plane ticket the first day after I arrived in Washington. And on all of the following three days, too.” He sniffled, rather ashamed at his revelation. “If I'd known things to come this far, I would've wanted to have your back. I thought you knew that.” Bruce's eyes flew to the ceiling, seeking refuge from the overflowing mass of emotions Tony exuded. “... said you didn't want in. I was... okay with that.”  
  
“Well, next time you won't be okay with that, and I won't be off in stupid DC doing even more stupid paperwork. Ever again.” A marginal smile tugged at Bruce's mouth at that. “Good.” It came out more of a tired huff and prompted Tony to lean forward and pressed a kiss against his lover's too warm forehead. “Hush now, you need to rest. I'll be here later on, so get some more sleep.”

* * *

Selina Kyle locked her Porsche Cayenne and flashed her badge at the entrance of the secluded firing range. At the ungodly hour of 4:38 AM, no one was around but security guards, the janitor, and a lone person out on the field, illuminated by the floodlights. Shots could be heard ringing out through the air. She cinched her trenchcoat tighter around her midriff and walked from the canopy out into the dawn of the day.

The air was moist and puffed visibly in front of her mouth as she stepped into the safety zone of the shooter. For a while, she stood and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Instead, however, he just kept on loading, firing, and unloading his Glock in a fast, almost manic, mechanical rhythm. He was not wearing ear protection, so she cleared her throat with audible disdain at his lack of manners. 

“The lawsuit's been filed against the organization and its leading members.”  
Undeterred, Tony Stark emptied another whole magazine into an innocent bottle-shaped figure.  
“Too bad.”  
  
He pressed a button to his left to which a new paper target mechanically popped up in the far distance.  
“I would've wanted some time with them beforehand. Alone.”  
Before he could go and take aim once again, she reached out and put a hand on his arm.

Tony lowered the gun, but Selina noticed how he did not put the safety lock on. He straightened up until they were of equal height and squared his shoulders. “Listen up, Agent. I got a lot of magazines and I'm planning on using them all until hospital's visiting hours start. Either talk or get out of my way.” His voice was testy and full of loathing. She inhaled through her nose and slipped her hands back into her coat.

“The information on the tracker was still intact. We can use the audio recording in court. That means Bruce doesn't have to testify. Please let him know.” At that, Tony locked the gun and really looked at her for the first time since her arrival. Behind the tinted safety glasses, his eyes were hard and vindictive. “Why don't you go tell him yourself?” She glared back at him with just as much defiance and raised her chin.  
  
“I'm heading back out to Gotham in two hours. All the best.”  
  
Even as she turned on her heel, the monotonous firing began once again.  
On her way out, Selina cast a final look at the dozen paper target scores Tony had been working on.  
All featured clean head shots.

* * *

In the end, it took Bruce one and a half week until he was able to get a hold of the hospital's release papers. Even if he still walked like he was stiff and sore all over, he remained adamant about leaving. His boyfriend picked him up, drove him home in his VW GTI, and even carried his duffel up the stairs, despite Bruce's growl. His apartment awaited him, though not in its usual state of barrenness.

Apparently, Tony had gone and aired it out before their return, and, from what Bruce could see, even stacked the fridge. Wayne's trained eye spotted some new accessories around, as well as a thick, quilted blanket over the bed and some heavy candle arrangements, still unused, in the corner of the living room. “Why do I have cushions with kittens on them that resemble Mount Rushmore?” Stark followed his pointed finger.

“Ah,... uh - trivialities.”  
With crinkled brows, Wayne once more looked from the décor items and back at his grinning boyfriend.  
“I don't like it when you do things like that behind my back.”

The words were harsh, and they were out before Bruce could help himself. Tony blinked at the floor, abashed, and rubbed at his nape. “Okay, I... I'll throw them out, no prob. You're right, it's your apartment, and I don't get to mess around without your consent. I just thought you might like it a little more comfy.” For the longest time, Bruce regarded the insecurities flash over his lover's face with a stoic expression.

With a huge sigh, he then stepped closer, tilted the shorter man's head up by his chin and leaned in to kiss him. “You should go and save the cushions for our new, bigger couch.” Confusion shone back at him through large brown eyes. “Uh, erm... what?” Bruce smiled, even if it was minuscule and tinged by insecurity.

“Let's move in together.”  
  
  



	36. Chapter 36

“Come on, Leslie, it's been two weeks. I am fine.”  
Doctor Thompkins threw her resentful patient a stern, but caring glance over the rim over her glasses.  
“Fine, Bruce, is something else. Fine is a simple fracture of an arm, four weeks in.”  
  
The disposable paper under him ripped when Bruce slid off the gurney with a frown. Doc Thompkins tried for a smile. “You are recuperating, yes, but far from what I would call fine. I cannot give your clearance for work yet, I am sorry. Two more weeks. Severe perineal laceration is not something you can go lightly about. No strenuous tasks, especially not while taking antibiotics. You are still taking them, I hope?”

He groaned as he re-fastened the belt buckle.  
“Yes. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
The physician put her pen down and looked at him.  
  
“How do you sleep?”  
A deflecting smirk.  
“Like any agent should. Light.”  
  
She pushed a prescription into his hands.  
“These might help with the insomnia, but as I already recommended, a therapy might be...”  
He stuffed the paper into his pocket and stood up.  
  
“No. I said I'm not going to see one and I mean it.”

* * *

“D'you hear that?”  
Tony held up his key ring and jingled it.  
“The sound of our own Casa della Vita.” 

Indulging him with a lenient smile, Bruce focused back on the rear-view mirror of the rented 15 foot U Haul truck as he maneuvered it into the driveway. They had found a nice, large apartment in Hawthorne, and Bruce was able to share Tony's enthusiasm. It had a patio, air conditioning, and a brand new dishwasher. Some things were in need of renovations, however, so Bruce, still on sick leave, decided to throw himself into work.

He displayed unknown DIY skills installing upper wall kitchen cabinets or refurbishing patches of wooden floor in the corridor. Tony would return from work to find him dressed in faded jeans and shirt, utility belt slung low around his hips as Bruce wielded a hammer to the blaring tunes of a Clash album Tony had downloaded for him. The sight turned Tony on beyond belief, even if he kept his indecent thoughts and hands to himself.

They were still very tender with physical affection, but Tony did not think too much of it seeing it was how Bruce normally behaved during the day. One night, however, things escalated long after they had turned off the lights. It started with Bruce feeling cold sweat prickle in his neck. Something was holding onto him from behind. The telltale poke of arousal in his back was enough to push him over the edge.

Bruce Wayne, trained special agent and former Ranger, was up and onto his attacker in less than a second, pinning the intruder down and going for his throat with both hands. “B...Br.... Bruce... Bru...ce...n-no...” When the hot white rage subsided behind his eyeballs, Bruce blinked reality back into view and realized whom he was strangling. He drew back as if he had been burnt, eyes wide and full of horror.

Tony used that moment to roll away to his side and off the bed with stertorous sounds. He remained kneeling on the floor, coughing and heaving for breath. In an instant, Bruce switched on the lights. He moved over into a sitting position to peek down at his wheezing lover. “God, Tony – I...” Stark scrambled to his feet, still massaging the raw area of his throat, and shook his head.

“S'okay... okay... gimme a minute here...”

“The FUCK it's okay – I almost killed you!!”

“I just... got too close... I'm sorry, I didn't realize...”

“You _don't_ have to apologize!” Head in his hands, Bruce's body shook from too much adrenaline. From a safe distance, Tony regarded him with misery; wanting to take him into his arms, but not daring to. “You need help, babe.” After a while, Wayne gave an almost too easy to miss nod.

* * *

The therapist was a specialist in his field, or so Bruce had been told. It had taken a lot out of him to go and arrange a first session. After reliving buried memories through a horrific nightmare the night after, he was about to cancel the whole endeavor, but once again it was Tony who made him see reason. “Not all doctors are equally qualified. Let's try someone else. This time, I'll get to pick and choose.”

Doctor Thompkins smiled when Bruce sat opposite of her in her private office two weeks later. “I did not want to impose myself upon you, but I am glad you have chosen to give this a try.” Bruce's eyes slid down to something on the side. “Tony made the appointment. I do this for him.” Leslie nodded and got up to fetch two glasses of water. She put one on the small table next to him and sat back down while sipping from her own.

“He's a good guy with a kind heart and spirit. The whole thing is very hard on him.” The Gothamite eyed the water but refrained to move. His palms were pressed up against each other, hidden between his thighs. A heavy frown set in between his brows. “It was my own fault. I didn't pay enough attention.” Her gentle eyes blinked behind her glasses. “It was not your own fault to be raped, Bruce. That is never the victim's fault.”

“Except that I am not a victim. I am a trained agent in the field. I am prepared for situations like that.”

“Nobody's prepared to be abused, especially not under such circumstances.”

“I made a mistake during the UC, I paid for it. Now just make me get over it. And fast.”  
Leslie inched her glasses a little up to be able to rub at the skin around her right eye.  
“This is your first venture into psychotherapy, isn't it?”

The bland, emotionless expression on Bruce's face prompted her to nod at her own question. “Why don't we start with you telling me everything you remember?” His jaw worked, but he did not speak. “Bruce. I know it's hard. What happened was a cruel and criminal act of physical abuse. But bottling up is not going to make it go away. If you don't feel like telling me the facts, tell me your current mindset.”

A snort. The leather creaked as he leaned forward to clasp for the glass of water. Holding it in his hand, Bruce's eyes narrowed at the small item. “I am angry.” Leslie nodded. “At whom?” “Myself. I hate myself for not being far-sighted enough to prevent it. I hate that I don't recall all that happened. I hate...” The therapist watched the miniscule shake of the liquid inside the glass.

“... the feeling of powerlessness.”

He nodded, the angry tug around his mouth carved deep into his skin. “Which is your prerogative. However, the sooner you start to process and evaluate your thoughts and feelings, the less persistent those traumatic memories are going to be. Unblock them so that we can work through them. Together.” After a while, Bruce raised the glass until his lips touched the rim.

Leslie Thompkins watched him down the content with a content, small smile and made a little note on the pad in her hand.  
“I'll see you next week then?”  
Doorknob already in hand, Bruce cast her a brief, almost shy look over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consensual m/m situations in this one

Soon, there was nothing more for Bruce to fix or mend inside their apartment. His daily routine thus included meetings with Leslie, counting down the days until his return to the bureau, working out at Coast Fitness during the time Tony was at work, and tinkering with the rattling exhaust system of his old Toyota Tacoma.

As the days passed by, Tony had gotten used to sleeping on the couch and to jerking off in the shower when the yearning got too strong. Eventually, he even avoided anything but a small peck in the morning and evening, and that was when Bruce started to go into a full frontal attack one free Saturday morning.

“Do you want us to”, Wayne frowned into the mirror of the bathroom where they stood brushing teeth side by side. “Break up?” Mouth full of white foam, Tony cast him an incredulous look and was quick to rinse off his mouth. “What? No! What makes you think that?” With a sad, peculiar smile, Bruce gestured in between them. “This. A solid two feet distance since I asked you the question.”

Bewildered, Tony followed his line of view and realized he was right, he had unconsciously stepped away. “God, no, I... I just want to give you space, because...” “... because you don't want to end up getting strangled again. I get it.” Bruce wiped his mouth on his towel. When he looked back up, his eyes held a sad realization. “You don’t have to stay. If you don't want to do this anymore, I can understand.”

Tony gave a very stubborn, almost angry shake of the head. “What happened doesn’t change anything. At least not for me! Idiot, I love you!” To reinforce his statement Tony then purposely stepped up to him and indicated a hug. Standing there in their sleep shirts and boxer shorts, Bruce eventually dipped his head lower to be able to nuzzle the crook of Tony's neck.

“I want to be close to you again.” Wayne's voice was a hushed whisper, close to his throat. “I want to feel you again.” Tony swallowed with difficulty. “I... don't want to trigger anything.” His lover's lost expression as he withdrew from their embrace made Tony speak what had been on his mind for weeks. “Okay. How about... we do this on your terms. You can touch me, but I won't touch you unless you explicitly want me to.”

Bruce needed little time to agree. “Shower?” Tony smiled. “Fine with me.” They stood under the pleasantly warm torrent a little while later, and Tony celebrated a big victory by being allowed to wash Bruce's hair and have his washed in return. After they finished up they stood in the bedroom like awkward teenagers. Bruce eventually made the first move and sat down on the bed.

Towel still around his waist, he loosened the knot and leaned back, one arm propping his head up. “Are you going to stand there all day?” Bruce was putting on a brave facade but it worked seeing he felt the first familiar stirrings down his groin. Tony put up a suave expression in return and sauntered closer. He dropped his towel in front of the bed and eased onto the mattress, close to Bruce, but not crowding him.

Their skin still radiated the warmth and the smell of shower gel, and it did not take long until they were nose to nose. Bruce leaned in first, and Tony gave a soft whimper of pleasure at the feel of his lips. They spent a good five minutes kissing, until Bruce reached out to cup the small of Tony's back and scooted closer to him. In an instant, Stark drew his hips back and squirmed.

“No, I...” His arousal was unmistakeable between his thighs, despite his tries to keep it hidden. “You're getting me worked up.” Bruce looked at his heaving chest and flushed cheeks. “Just by kissing you?” He sounded astounded. Tony's grin was part rueful, part smug. “I also have a very vivid imagination, but yes, just kissing you could probably get me off at this point.”

Bruce mulled over those words while he let his eyes roam all the way along Tony's lithe body and back.

“I want you inside of me.”

Shocked, Tony opened his eyes and looked at him.

“But... -babe...”

“I gotta get over this irrational fear. It's the only way.”

To reinforce his statement, he gripped Tony's backside and pulled him close to his body, feeling their lengths rub against each other and hearing his boyfriends low, throaty moan. When it became clear that Bruce was serious, Tony started kissing, licking and nibbling a path from his throat down to his groin. “C'mon now.” Bruce all but thrust upwards, eliciting an indulgent smolder. “All about the prep time, hun.”

By that time, Bruce's arousal was there with all of its need and musky aroma. Tony let his tongue dip lower, until it ghosted over the sensitive part between his balls and his entrance. At that, Bruce jerked with a low moaned whimper. In an instant, Tony's head came up, alarmed. “Not okay?” A breathy smirk. “Nghh... okay. Very... okay.” Smiling against a warm, trembling thigh, Tony ran his fingers along the insides.  
  
“Good. Relax, babe. I got you.”

The first time he made use of a finger, Tony felt like it was about to break. He was quick to remove it and watched Bruce's panting, strained countenance. “Let's not overdo things. How about a tradeoff?” Hazel eyes flew open, their owner about to protest, so Tony licked a path all the way along his shaft. “You're gonna get the best blow job I've ever delivered, so lean back and enjoy the show.”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Tony dipped his head low and set out to work. It took him less than ten minutes until Bruce went slack underneath his ministrations, quivering from the rush of a powerful, long-denied orgasm. Chest heaving, Wayne then fumbled and groped for his lover until he had pulled Tony into a straddling position right atop of him. “Cum on me.”

It did not take long for Tony to comply with his wish. After their clumsy clean up efforts, Bruce turned onto the side to let Tony spoon him during their post-coital nap. They woke half an hour later, still in the same position, and feeling like they had just conquered a huge barrier towards the return of normality. It was also Bruce's libido that kept them in bed for two more rounds of lovemaking.

 


	38. Chapter 38

The colorful banner over their office door read 'Welcome Back' in bright, glossy letters. A massive cake plate dome with a glass lid stood right upon his desk, filled to the brim with cupcakes in pastel colors. “Pepper made these. Veeery yummy. With real pistachios even, at least some of them.” With a benign smile, Bruce put his black briefcase aside and crossed his arms. “Really. How would you know?”

Tony traipsed around the cake display, hands behind his back, wearing a very important expression. “Cause I helped making them.” Bruce grinned at the speck of frosting on his boyfriend's upper lip. “Eating them, too, it seems. How many?" In a rare display of semi-public affection, Wayne reached out to brush a thumb over Tony's mouth. “I lost count from the sugar high. D'you want one? Strawberry cheesecake's the best.”

Bruce took a seat and ran his palms along the clean, unused desk blotter calendar. Eventually, he reached for his notebook. “Maybe later.” Tony eyed him with underlying attentiveness and leaned over his chair. “Can I get you something else then? Coffee? Water? Oh, we can also open a window if you like.” His boyfriend threw him a pointed look. “Stop it with the jive talking and sit down.” Stark complied in an instant. “Sitting down.”

Tony then also flipped his notebook open and pressed the power button. While he waited for the computer to boot, he grabbed the edge of the desk and scooted his swivel chair closer. With one elbow propped up on the table, chin in hand, he regarded the enticing assortment and gave a longing sigh while Bruce started to type in his usual rapid fashion. “I dunno how I'll be able to concentrate with those goodies right in front of me.”

The phone rang and they shared a look.  
Tony fought down the urge to reach out and grab the receiver, but Bruce made an inviting gesture.  
“Go ahead. I know you want to.”  
  
Blowing him a kiss, Tony moved.  
“Stark-Wayne Castle, what's your hassle?”  
Deputy Director Fury harrumphed loud into his ear.

“... I'll let it slide only because of the occasion, Agent Stark. I've assigned a new case for you and Agent Wayne. Check the data repository I just activated for your account. The Attorney’s Office got us the UFAP on this guy. Be aware that there's information in there which has been indexed to a zero file.” After Tony had responded with monosyllabic 'ho-hum's' and 'uh-huh's' for the longest time, he hung up.

He began to hack into his keyboard with bored diligence at first, then with growing interest. Bruce, who had eyed his lover and the energy he exuded over the screen of his laptop, eventually stopped typing. “What is it?” Tony grabbed his notebook and turned it around for Bruce to read.  
  
“Something reaaaally nice.”

_~_

“ _Bad boys, bad boys, what'cha gonna do, what'cha gonna do when we come for you...”_

Tony kept on singing under his breath while prepping his gun. Bruce felt obliged to correct him on his wrongful use of the personal pronoun 'we' in the song's true context, but held his tongue and kept on driving, his thoughts already on the upcoming mission. They had been assigned to a case of Unlawful Flight to Avoid Prosecution regarding an individual named Victor Zsasz.

Zszaz had been connected with criminal charges such as murder, kidnapping, burglary, robbery, assault with a dangerous weapon, and extortion accompanied by threats of violence. Because of his frequent stunts at many different mental hospitals, he had been able to escape federal apprehension for years.

Two days after the official warrant had been issued, Bruce and Tony were on their way to locate and arrest Zsasz. They had gathered as much intelligence as possible, found out Zsasz had no living relatives, a penchant to carry knives instead of firearms, and was hiding away in the outer rims of Los Angeles. From where Tony had finished rechecking his Glock, he threw his silent, brooding driver a loving grin.  
  
“Feels good to be back, eh?”  
After a couple of seconds, Bruce blinked, took a hand off the wheel, and gave his thigh a brief squeeze.  
“Yeah.”

They arrived at Murphy Ranch, an old Nazi compound hidden in the middle of the mountains at Pacific Palisades, at 6:47 pm.

Previous surveillance had shown their target had taken up residence at an abandoned warehouse deep down Sullivan Fire Road, thus minimizing stakeout time for Tony and Bruce. After going over the final pincer movement plan one last time, they exited the car. Rusted engine parts, crumbled huts full of graffiti and overturned clutter, some rotten beyond any recognition, greeted them. “How lovely.”

At Tony's low remark, Bruce took one final glance at his muted phone and pocketed it. “Stay alert. Reception is next to none in this area. Backup is going to take a while.” Stark, dressed in denims, a tight long sleeved shirt and a nondescript black bulletproof vest like his partner, clipped an extra ammunition magazine on his belt and pulled his navy blue baseball hat deeper into his eyes.

“Pshh. We don't need to stinkin' backup.” Bruce shot him a murderous look to which Tony amended with a grin and a mock-salute to his temple. “But yes, of course. Staying alerted, Sir. Same goes for you.” A snort. “Take the left, I'll take the right.” Weapons drawn, they nodded at each other one final time.

The first three huts were cleared in a matter of minutes. There was no sign of Zsasz so far, and Tony gave a few hand signs to indicate he was about to head over towards the largest shed on the premises that had a rusty looking metal lattice gate dangling in mid-air. Bruce replied in an equally silent way, telling him to wait until he had secured any possible backdoor exits.

Tony hunkered down on one side of the overgrown barrack with its graffiti décor, and inspected the perimeter with practiced ease. The sound of something dropping to the floor inside the hut caught his attention, and he perked up. He craned his neck around the corner, straining to see against the relative darkness, and slowly inched forward, mindful of Bruce's imminent return to the front.

With Tony halfway in, halfway out the shack, the massive metal gate suddenly made a gnarling sound and hurtled down. Only a fast lurch forward saved him from being decapitated. The gate then slammed shut before either he or Bruce could react, irrevocably separating them for time being. Trapped inside, Stark suppressed a curse and jerked at the immobile gate once before he swung around, gun up and ready to fire.

When nothing happened, he forced his breath down to normal and took stock of his current situation. The air inside the storage room smelled moldy and stale. On shallow breaths Tony inched forward, though not without trying the locked gate behind him one last time. Faint daylight from outside shone through dirtied windows up above, revealing the shapes of many stacked crates and tarmac objects.

The potential hiding ground for their target was immense, and there was no other exit visible from Tony's position. All of a sudden a ray of white, blinding light shone into Tony's face, making him squint. Before he knew it, a sharp, cold blade poked into his throat. “Drop the gun. Slowly.” Stark swallowed, but did as he was told. His Glock hit the concrete floor with a clatter and Zsasz picked it up.

Turning the flashlight off, the fugitive stepped back and pointed the semi-automatic at the federal agent. “This gon' be my ticket into freedom, fella.” Stark wet his lips and adopted a de-escalating stance by holding his hands up, palms facing Zsasz. “C'mon now, Victor. You can't kill a Fed. That'll only set you up for even bigger shit.” A set of bad, rotten teeth bared itself at that. “Maybe you're right.”

Zsasz then lowered the gun and went to grab something from a rickety table. Tony had already noticed the deeply carved marks on it. “It's easier if I keep you around as my human shield then.” He made a waving motion with the gun. “Over there. Onto the floor, hands above your head, wrists together.” Tony had no choice but to comply. As his wrist got wrapped in thick, black duct tape, he could not help but to roll his eyes.

“Just great. Every single time there's a hostage situation, I end up right in the middle of it. I know correlation does not imply causation, but man, I'm so sick and tired of...” Zsasz ended his tirade with a piece of duct tape square over his mouth. “Shut up, you smart ass sonofabitch or I'll cut your tongue.” Rendered voiceless, Tony's dark, incensed eyes nevertheless shot him a look that could kill.

 


	39. Chapter 39

Bruce had been quick to move up on the warehouse as stealthy as the fragile construction allowed him to. The roof was flat and corrugated, with uneven patches of gaping holes caused by rust and exposure to decades of weather conditions. Wayne decided to move forward on all fours to distribute his weight, mindful not to slice his palms on corrosion-prone metal.

After he had glimpsed down several windows, he discovered the one Tony sat under, wrists bound and mouth wrapped with black duct tape. Stark's head tilted upon seeing a shadow above, and they looked at each other. A non-verbal communication later, Bruce had learned that Zsasz seemed to have left the barrack for time being, and thus Wayne deemed the scene clear enough to move in.

He gauged the distance from roof to the ground to be less than ten feet, but a plain jump and barrel roll through the window would cause more harm and noise than doing him any good. His eyes flew to a nearby stack of containers which almost reached halfway up to the ceiling. Assessing the situation, Bruce reached for the Swiss Army knife on his belt and levered the flimsy porthole window open with ease.

With a nimble move he lowered himself into the dark and dusty warehouse, legs dangling in mid-air. He used all of his upper body strength on the metal rig construction under the roof to work his way over to the containers, holding onto the beams like they were monkey bars at his favorite gym. As soon as Bruce had solid ground under his feet he climbed off the containers, drew his gun, and checked for any commotion.

Upon hearing and seeing no one, he made his way over to where Tony sat and regarded him with something between fascination, relief, and annoyance. Bruce smirked as he hunkered down in front of him. “This is getting old.” His whispered but still deadpan remark was met with a glower. “Mwewtkfl.” Tony pulled his head away from Bruce's approaching hand. The latter frowned at his defiance.  
  
“Hold still.”  
Large brown eyes grew frantic, just like the shake of a dark head.  
“NGH! MWEWTKFL!”  
  
With a sound like sandpaper on wood, the tape came off Tony's mouth. “OUCH - FUCK! I SAID WILL YOU BE CAREFUL?!” Bruce shushed him while removing the wrist tape and glimpsed at the reddish imprint around Tony's lips. “No need for you to shave tomorrow.” Tony fingered the sore area. “Fuck you, too, sweetcheeks.” He accepted Bruce's spare semi-automatic and went through the safety check motions while looking around.

“Now where's that bugger? I'll finish him personally for giving me herpes.” Wayne threw him an exasperated look and dropped the crumpled heap of duct tape on the floor.  “It's not herpes, it's a rash, and you'll stay put. Reinforcements are likely on their way by now.” The sound of a far-away engine got them to perk up. “Looks like we got no more time to wait. C'mon!” Following his agile partner, Bruce suppressed a curse.

Tony was right. Zsasz was about to disappear on some sort of motorized vehicle he had hidden in the back of another shack. Guns up and ready to shoot, Bruce secured Tony's back as the latter barged out of the warehouse first. They were just in time to see Zsasz on an old orange-colored motorbike with missing mud flaps as the criminal whooshed past them in a gust of exhaust fumes; manic grin on haggard features.

Dust whirled up around the bike as its driver wielded the machine around, and they had to jump to the side to avoid being run over as Zsasz zipped right through their middle; a wave of gasoline billowing out from the ill-sounding, clattering exhaust. With a smooth spin on a heel, one hand bracing him on the ground, Tony lifted his gun mid-twist and fired several shots. At least one of them caught the back tire of the bike.

In an instant, Zsasz wobbled, slithered, and crashed, bike sliding away from underneath him. Bruce who had fought against stinging dust in his right eye squinted at the fugitive who flew off the bucking machine to land in a patch of shrubbery. His bald, tattooed head soon reappeared, and he dashed forward on all fours before scrambling up to his feet and breaking into a run down the trail and into the woods.

One look at each other, then the two FBI agents set for hot pursuit.

Bruce had a slight advantage on longer legs and veered out to the far left, to try to salvage their previous pincer-movement strategy. If he could cut off Zsasz' way, they still stood a chance. The terrain became more uneven, and it was a challenge to stay on target. He kept an eye out for Tony to the right while making sure not to stumble and fall over tree logs, roots, and the rotten remains of litter and scraps that blocked his path.

Stark had long since realized his partner's intention and increased his pace, too. Jumping, ducking and weaving through the changing scenery, Tony was hot on Zsasz' heels, sending off a couple of warning shots that ricocheted off tree trunks. It was then that the fugitive tuned around, mid-stride, and fired over his shoulder. It was a lucky shot, without any precise aim or skill, but it did not miss its target.  
  
The wail that escaped Tony as the projectile lodged itself into his thigh cut right through Bruce's heart and soul. From his vantage point, he saw his boyfriend drop to the forest ground like a deadweight. “TONY!” Bruce lowered his stride, his gun, and started into his direction. Stark was down on one knee, clutching at a spot on his thigh that started to stain the fabric of his jeans. He shook his head and waved Wayne off.  
  
“Go get him! I'll manage.” It came through gritted teeth. When he dared to take his hand away, dark crimson bubbled out of the wound, spilling all over his fingers. “Fuck!” Tony pressed down onto the opening again while trying to rip a strip of fabric from his shirt. Bruce hunkered down to take over for him. “I'm not leaving you!” Annoyed dark-brown eyes flew up, masking the shock they felt, and slapped helping hands off.

“Fuckin GO!” Torn between doing his job and following his heart, Bruce hesitated. “But...” Tony's nostrils flared, either from suppressed pain or exasperation. “I'll be there to harass you for the rest of your life, but GO!” Thin lips pressed into a solid line, Agent Wayne re-checked the clip in his Glock. “You better.” In no time he was back on track. Thoughts of vengeance fueled his stride, turning his run into a ferocious sprint.

It took two shots of great aim until Zsasz crumbled to the ground, immobilized by a direct hit in the calf. “FBI! Stay down! You're under arrest!” Bruce's voice was liquid steel, if a bit breathless. Zsasz began to roll around in the dirt, clutching his leg. “ARGH! Fuck you, motherfucker! I'll kill you and that other sonofabitch!” With a look that could kill and more force than necessary, Bruce rammed his foot into the man's neck.  
  
“Shut up, asshole.”  
  
A click of handcuffs later, Bruce set off a request for urgent medical attention via comm, hoping reinforcements were close by to receive it, and raced back to where he had left his partner behind. By that time Stark was reduced to a heap, sitting propped up against a tree, head hung low. From the looks of it, Tony had managed to tie a strip of fabric around his leg, but everything around him was colored in dark, ugly crimson.

“Tony!”  
  
Bruce dropped to his knees in front of him and felt for a pulse on clammy skin. He found one, despite being on the verge of an inner freak out, and his hand shaking like a leaf. “Can you hear me? Talk to me, goddammit!” His voice prompted Tony to blink his eyes open. With great effort he tipped his head back against the trunk and blinked at his lover. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “Yea, don' hav't'a yell. Got 'im good, tiger?”

Wayne nodded, his throat constricted. He, too, perspired after the intense pursuit. “Easy. Paramedics are coming over.” In the distance, the staccato blips of an emergency rumbler siren could be heard. Stark pulled a face and reached up with a shaky arm. “Hell, no. Help m'up.” After a moment of hesitation, Wayne caved in and bent down to lift him up with one arm under the back of his knees.

As he straightened up to his full height, swaying a bit until he found his balance, Tony huffed. “Bridal style... really?” Exhaustion and faint amusement lay in his slurred voice. “Ya movin' fast, studmuffin. I—uh—Ilikethat.” His eyes closed again, and he let his head loll against Bruce's shoulder. The Gothamite looked down, to which droplets of sweat ran from his jaw and ended up in Tony's hair. “What are you talking about?”

He tried to ignore the stickiness of blood in his palms as he walked fast to meet the ambulance halfway. “You. Poppin th' question, YOLO-style. Whodathunk.” At that, Wayne almost tripped over tangled roots in his way and refastened his grip on the man in his arms. “You're delusional after losing a fair amount of blood. Shush it now.” With great effort, Stark raised his head. His eyes were glassy and needed time to focus.

“Nah. Am not. Go 'head, 'm ready.”  
Bruce's countenance morphed from badly concealed worry to plain confusion mixed with vexation.  
"This is neither the time, nor the place...”  
  
A weak grin crept out of a pale, drawn face.  
“Jus' fuckin ask me 'lready, Wayne.”  
“Will you...”

“Yes.”  
Tony was out could immediately afterward. Bruce regarded the slightly cocky tug around his mouth.  
“... finally shut up?”

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter after this *headdesk* The FBI boys are stubborn.

By the time they had made it into medical care, Anthony Stark already lost a good 28 percent of his blood volume, resulting in an instant blood transfusion, intravenous fluids, and two weeks of bed rest. Bruce remained by his side almost all of the time, leaving only when it was necessary. He returned bringing fresh fruit and trail mix and sometimes magazines along, which Tony then requested being read to him.

“ _... quickly earned its reputation for being one of the most accurate .45s out of the box. The Sig Sauer P220 _ _operates by a locked-breech, short-recoil action harking back to John M. Browning and has been available in the United States in .45 Auto for the last three decades. As of January of this year, 10mm expands the list of calibers in this platform to two.”_

At the poignant pause, Stark then interrupted his narrator with a groan. Bruce lowered the magazine. “What?” Tony rubbed his forehead with the hand not attached to a finger pulse oximeter. “You honestly brought a Guns & Ammo issue along? Who in their right mind reads that?” Wayne threw him a pointed look. “At the moment: Me?” Another groaning sound. “You're doing that to spite me, aren't'cha?”

“Why would I?” Honest confusion crept over Bruce's countenance before he flipped the magazine shut. “I can very well stop here and leave.” Seeing he was serious, Tony became alarmed and his grin started to falter. “No, no, I just... hey. I thought it was a joke. Should've known better, HEY! Stop, drop and chill, agent, will you!” A snort. “Why? Pepper's about to arrive in half an hour. You can go make fun of her.”

Before Bruce could leave the single bedroom, Tony's insistent voice got him to pause at the door. “For starters, I don't have a death wish, and... hey now - will you come back here?! I am in pain and you need to kiss it better.” It was a plain blackmail attempt, but it worked and Bruce returned to his bedside and leaned over the rails. “You're obnoxious.” His breath was warm against Tony's lips.

“You love me anyhow.”  
Hazel eyes narrowed, mock-irritation swiftly changing into affection.  
“Against better judgment I do, unfortunately.”

They kissed again before Bruce drew back, fingers tapping a soft rhythm against Tony's stubbled cheek. “I'll be back with appropriate literature tomorrow.” As it turned out, Bruce Wayne's sense of humor was bringing a Sudoku magazine along. To Tony Stark's horror, his boyfriend then went and read him the squares out loud.

All of them.

* * *

“Do you think they have gay versions of those Mr. and Mrs. flags somewhere around here?”

It was their first foray into grocery shopping at Ralphs together after Tony's release from the hospital. Bruce kept on pushing their cart while Tony veered from aisle to aisle, adding things at an alarming rate. From time to time, Bruce therefore went and inconspicuously removed the most impulsive choices. Pulling a face, Wayne dropped a bottle of lemon verbena laundry detergent into a huge basket full of organic diapers. 

He then searched for his boyfriend and found him standing at the far end of the aisle, bopping on the spot while making funny-looking gestures. Bruce forced himself to stop scanning Tony for any signs of physical discomfort. The doctors had told Stark to take things easy and not over-exhaust himself. With a sigh, Bruce crossed the distance over to his energetic boyfriend and was greeted by an eye roll.  
  
“I wanted you to pick up some paper rolls.”  
Wayne frowned.  
“Then you should have said so.”

“I didn't want to yell across the whole store.”  
With a little push, Bruce set the cart in motion, heading for the exit.  
“Too bad I left my crystal ball at home.”

Trailing along, Tony pursed his lips as he inspected their purchases.  
“At this stage, we're failing the broccoli test with flying colors. That needs to improve before the wedding.”  
One of the cart's wheels got jammed on a small piece of litter and Bruce almost tripped.

“Broccoli test?”

“Yeah, it's a kind of meme about the almost psychic understanding of two people bonded to each other.”  
Wayne's eyes flew to something in the distance and he cleared his throat.  
“Actually, about that...”

Unmindful of the slight croak in his voice, Tony waved a jaunty hand around.  
“But I'm not convinced that's the secret of a good marriage, y'know, telling a vegetable by telekinesis.”  
“Tony...”

“We could use that for the Save The Date cards tho, that'd be funny: 'Failed the broccoli test, still getting hitched' or something.” It was then that Bruce stopped, reached out and grabbed his arm, just before Tony could dash away to get the aforementioned paper towls. “Stop, we... we have to speak about this.” It was then that the shorter man stilled, right between the magazines and the checkout aisle.

“Okay?”  
His brown eyes darted all over his boyfriend's face as Bruce squinted at a container of milk in their cart.  
“I think there's been a misunderstanding of some sort. We... the situation. I didn't really... uh.”

“Misunder--...”

“Remember you were pretty whacked shortly before the medics arrived.” Stark hummed and scratched his cheek. “Bleeding out all over mother nature's mountain flora will do that to a guy, yeah.” Even though he said it with an air of cheeriness, Bruce's face twisted as if to try and avoid reliving those horrific memories again. “So, yes, as I was saying. I—um-- wasn't really myself back there, too, and...”

With a harsh intake of breath, Tony shook off the hand on his arm. “Oh God.” His brows furrowed. “Oh my fucking God,” He went a few shades paler, to which Bruce started out into his direction, concerned. “Tony...” Stark sidestepped him, all the while shaking his head. “You're taking it back. The proposal.” Bruce swallowed with difficulty. “Technically it wasn't even a proposal, bec...”

“Stop making it worse!”  
  
By now Tony's voice was nothing but a mere hiss. He gulped for air and pressed the heel of his palm into an eye socket. His boyfriend tried to step up to him, arm outstretched, but Stark continued to take a step back with each one he took. Wayne clenched his teeth. “... the circumstances were beyond chaotic if you remember.” Bruce's voice had taken on an agonized tone, somewhere between frustrated and helpless.

“I mean, think about work, our careers, and...” Raising his hands in defensiveness, Tony near bumped into an innocent customer who tried to navigate around them. “No. What I gotta think about is this. Us I mean. Alone.” Wayne moved their shopping cart out of the way of the elder man and gripped its handle. “If that's your wish.” Wordless, Tony turned around and walked away, his sneakers squeaking on linoleum.

Bruce paid for their groceries in a haze. He waited some more in the parking lot after heaving things into his pickup, but Tony did not show up.

* * *

James Rhodes opened the door with a more than concerned expression.

“Tones! I just got your message. What in everything...?” Stark stared at his feet with an agonized frown on his face. “Can I come in?” James wheeled his chair aside with precision. “Course! There's even some casserole left if you like.” Tired brown eyes flickered into his direction after Tony had closed the door behind him. “Not hungry, thanks.” Rhodes went to stick his head into the fridge nonetheless.

“A drink then.”  
He held up a beer with an inviting wiggle, but his best friend negated once more.  
“Something stronger would be great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Article from Bruce's magazine taken from here  
> http://www.gunsandammo.com/reviews/sig-sauer-p220-review/#ixzz4eGVnh7Q6


	41. Chapter 41

“Hi.”

The deep voice startled Pepper Potts out of her reverie. She stared at the tall man who had appeared out of nowhere just as she was about to lock her office and head home after a day's work. “Oh... Bruce – hi! How are you?” She shifted her laptop bag onto the other shoulder and started walking towards the exit. He went to hold the corridor door for her and gave a sparse smile. “Been better.”

After letting her pass through he caught up with her and shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit. “Actually, I was wondering if you... have a moment. There are some questions I'd like to ask you.” His voice and whole appearance spoke of stoic federal agent, but the way his feet shuffled on the linoleum spoke of anxious young man. Pepper dug for her car keys and blew at a strand of red hair.  
  
“How about we go somewhere and have a bite to eat? I am in the mood for some spicy comfort food.”  
Bruce looked up, a flicker of relief in his eyes.  
“Okay.”

They sat at a high table at the Pho Shop fifteen minutes later, nursing two non-sugared soda chanh while waiting for their food. The redhead threw a final glance at her phone before slipping it back into her purse and putting it aside. Pepper then crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Okay, now spill. All I know is Tony's gone off the radar and you are moping around the office for the past few days.”

“I am not moping.”

“I didn't want to call it brooding because you are not a mother hen, but if you prefer that...”  
She shrugged with an airy expression and reached for the straw in her tea. Bruce's brows formed a V.  
“We've had a misunderstanding and now he's...”

“... pissed.”  
At her crude but fitting remark, the Gothamite snorted in meek amusement.  
“Yes.”

Her palm touched the back of his large hand. It made him look up and at her smiling face. “You did the right thing, coming to the Stark Whisperer.” The arrival of grilled lemongrass chicken and brisket pho interrupted their conversation even before it had fully started. Bruce reached for the wrapper of the chopsticks and tore it open. “When Tony got shot during our last case, something happened.”

His Adam's apple bobbed as he began to rake the sticks through his food, mingling rice and chicken. Pepper dipped the little white spoon into the steaming broth and blew it. “He's been showing off the scar on his thigh ever since.” That prompted a raised eyebrow. Potts shrugged and slurped at the soup. “You know how he is.” Bruce snorted again and picked up the first bite of chicken. “Goddamn exhibitionist.” She laughed.  
  
“No need to fret, it's not like I haven't seen more than my fair share of Tony in various states of undress over the years.” The slightest bit of color crept upon Bruce's cheeks. “I see.” He busied himself chewing on his food. Pepper switched from spoon to chopsticks and made a little, surprised sound. “Oh, but – not like that! We never – gosh, that sounded better in my head.” Seeing her palm her forehead made him grin.

“Your fraternization policy is better than mine, I take it.” The redhead dipped her head back and laughed. “I guess you can say that. Or maybe Tony's really the quirky elder brother I never had and who gets away with nearly anything. Don't tell him that I said that.” Wayne's grin turned several hues sadder. “I'm not in the position to tell him anything at the moment. He hasn't shown up at home for the past three days.”

He went back to poking at his food and Pepper regarded him. “What happened?” Her question was tentative. Bruce's jaw worked in silence for a solid ten seconds before he took a breath. “He thought I had asked him to marry me out in the field, and I went and set the record straight.” Pepper's eyes went wide and she let her chopsticks sink. “So you proposed?” A shake of a head.

“No, it was – a misunderstanding. He was so out of it at that time, and I...” Bruce swallowed and forced himself to meet her incredulous gaze. “I didn't want us to live on false assumptions, but he took it bad.” He lowered his head, embarrassed by the revelation. She, too, looked down at her dish and twirled the sticks around. “Oh my God, now I get it.” A tangle of slick rice noodles slipped from her chopsticks back into the beefy broth.

Bruce peeked up. “What?" Pepper dabbed at her mouth and leaned in. “Tony and Steve's breakup happened in a similar way. Everybody thought they would go and tie the knot, but before things could get really serious, Steve went and ended the whole thing. It turned out he got together with his partner of many years shortly after their split. I remember how devastated Tony was. How betrayed.”

Wayne said nothing. His eyes fell down at the pile of chicken and rice of in front of him, and Pepper saw his lashes flutter as he blinked several times in a row. “But I wasn't going to end things. At all. I just couldn't live with a lie.” Pepper picked up her chopsticks again and cast him a look of mild reproach. “Then go and tell him that. He's reliving bad memories at the moment.” His mouth curled with disdain.

“I don't know where he's left to.” She smirked at him, part sympathetic, part scolding. “Oh please, Agent Wayne. And here I was thinking you were one of the best special agents the bureau had to offer.” They locked eyes, challenged hazel on gauging blue until Bruce realized what she was telling him in between the lines. Like nothing had happened, Pepper then continued to eat and he did the same with a new-found appetite.

As a waiter scurried past and took their empty dishes, Pepper reached for her handbag. Bruce made a stopping motion and went for his wallet. “Allow me.” Pepper inclined her head. “Thank you.” He slid a $20 bill over at the waiter, shook his head at the change, and grabbed his jacket from the chair. Again Bruce yielded to her at the door and walked her over to where her Buick Verano stood at the curb.

Before they parted ways, Pepper spread her arms and pulled him in for a hug.  
“You will do the right thing, I am very certain.”  
His body froze at her embrace before he returned the gesture, albeit awkward.

“Thanks.”

~

The sound of an engine parking outside got them to raise their heads from where they were sitting in the living room, deeply engrossed in a match of chess. Tony who had been sure to win but was in fact far too distracted to really make an effort, looked at his friend. A few moments later, the doorbell rang. “You expecting company?” James shook his head. “Not really. Or, wait. It could be Josh. Be right back.”

He wheeled backward, around the corners of the glass table, and disappeared down the corridor. A tall silhouette stood outside on the porch, and James glimpsed through the curtains of the small windows next to the door. A man James had only seen once but remembered right away stood in the semi-shadows of the rainy night. With a resolute motion, he pulled the door open. “This surely comes... surprising.”

The man flipped the hood of his rain jacket back and blinked against the drizzle that now hit his face. “Can I speak to him?” Rhodes regarded him from head to toe; running sneakers, faded denim, and a navy wind-sweep jacket. “Just a sec.” He left the door open but uttered no invitation. The unplanned visitor remained where he was. “Tones? Can you come here?” Footsteps thumped down the corridor.

“I swear I didn't order pizza, you said you didn't want any, even though...” Tony Stark fell short when he spotted the familiar figure in the doorway. Bruce stared at him standing there in a blue v-neck sweater and cargo pants, a head of scruffy hair and an equally grown-out beard. A multitude of emotions flitted over Tony's face, and he took a deep breath. “Huh. Pizza'd been better.”

James raised an eyebrow as they kept on gauging each other from a distance. “Anyways. I'll be in the living room. Holla if you need something. And close the door, Ma's complaining about heating for the birds outside.” That brought Tony back to life. He nodded and stepped outside, to where Bruce Wayne stood, shoulders hunched, and jaw set tight, pulling the door shut behind them. Bruce cleared his throat.  
  
“So.”  
Tony mimicked him.  
“So.”

Wayne frowned at the miniature flower arrangement on a small windowsill to the left. “You've been gone for a week.” Tony squared his shoulders and shoved his palms flat into the back pockets of his pants. “Fury's got my request for a leave in time.” A curl of thin lips. “I'm not talking about work.” With a cynical smile, Stark tilted his head. “Oh, you aren't. That's a first.” His voice was dripping acid, but Bruce made no move to object.

From close up, Tony then noticed the uncommon stubble on his chin and cheeks. Wayne cleared his throat again. “I've been thinking about anything but work the past week.” Head hung low, the Gothamite then unzipped his jacket halfway to fumble for something in its inside pocket. “And I know now what went wrong.” Before Tony could fire back a snarky retort, Bruce raised his chin and met his defiant glare.

“This isn't something to do in the wake of disaster. This deserves a real effort.”  
And there, on the wide porch of the Rhodes' family estate in San Francisco, Bruce reached out to take Tony's cold, left hand in his.  
“Anthony Edward Stark, will you do me the honor and become my lawfully wedded husband?”

Aghast the shorter man stepped back and freed his fingers to run them through his hair. “Fuck, did you just... I mean. Fuck!” Wayne's intense gaze followed his every motion. “I want to be with you. If you still want to. If not I won't hold it against you. It would even things out, and I am...” A pair of warm lips crushed onto his and stopped his illogical babbling. Bruce moaned into his mouth, surprised at first, then with relief.

Standing on his toes, Tony cupped his face and held him close when they separated for air after a while.  
“Just tell me one thing.”  
By now, Bruce's arms had found their steady way around his midriff.  
  
“What?”  
Hazel eyes reopened to be met with dark, mischievous ones.  
“Who the hell told you about my middle name?”

  
~EPILOG~

The wedding took place two months later. It was a small ceremony held in their backyard, featuring only the two grooms, Alfred Pennyworth as Bruce's best man, James Rhodes as Tony's groomsman, as well as Pepper Potts and Lucius Fox as witnesses. With Tony in a silver tux and Bruce in black, they slipped a thin ring onto the other one's finger and repeated their I dos with suave and honest enthusiasm.

The small delegation then sat down under a breezy garden pavilion and enjoyed a rich selection of homemade food. Tony had switched the tuxedo jacket for a kitschy Iron Man apron and kept on brandishing a large spoon around, helping everyone to seconds, or thirds. “C'mon you guys, eat. Made that lasagna after a recipe from my mother.” Rhodey grinned around a mouthful of thick tomato sauce.  
  
“So domestic, you two.”  
Tony licked his thumb and negated with a shake of the head.  
“Nah-ah, that's just me doing all the hard work. Bboy here can't cook for shit.”  
  
A fork poked into his direction.  
“Why, I married you for that.”  
Tony flipped him off with a blown kiss that caused merry laughter all around.

Bruce pointed at the Mr. and Mr. garden flags that adorned the festive table. “We should have bought the Mr. and Mrs. version after all, with your excellent housewife qualities and what not.” To the eyes of their still chuckling guests, Tony reached over and grabbed his husband's strong chin in between a palm. “Remember what I thought about you when we first met?”

The Gothamite looked up and pretended to think. “How utterly dashing I was and how you wanted me right there and then?” A gentle squeeze to his jaw. “Close, but I think it was more along the lines of you being an asshole.” Wayne, now officially Stark-Wayne on paper, broke into a sly grin. “In fact, I remember. My answer, too. It was thanks, I'll try...” Bruce reached out, took his hand, and pressed a kiss upon Tony's ring finger.  
  
“... my love.”  
  
THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The apron does exist and can be found here:  
> https://www.walmart.com/ip/Marvel-Comics-Iron-Man-Be-The-Hero-Apron/45804804
> 
> So, this is it. Another AU beast done and over with. Thank you, everyone, who read, commented and/or gave kudos! I love hearing from all of you!


End file.
